


What We Lack

by Adararis



Category: Ore ni Koi Shite Dousunda
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, F/M, Gay Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Kidnapping, M/M, More angst, Rough Sex, Serial Killer, WIP, trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 57,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5528393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adararis/pseuds/Adararis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tora,” Ryouji said, and it was an animal voice, low and rough and dark.</p><p>“Ryouji,” Tora whispered, and he wrapped his arms around his uncle’s neck and kissed him as well as he knew how because he loved him and would never be able to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Playlist

      This is my playlist for What We Lack—originally I was planning to wait to share it until the very end, but today's my birthday and I wanted to do something for the fic. Unfortunately I’m not capable enough to have made it the next chapter, so this will have to do. All of these songs are just ones that give me, personally, the “feeling” of WWL and the relationship between Tora and Ryouji, and I don’t expect everyone to share the same opinion. I figured some people might be interested to know what I listen to when thinking about WWL, though.

      For me, the emphasis is less on lyrics and more on tone, since when I’m writing I tend to ignore the words being sung and focus more on the mood the music inspires. If it were based only on lyrics then I think that Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis would hands down be the theme song (honestly, I’m still hoping to find a version of it that gives me the right mood). Still, I think a lot of the songs have applicable lyrics, too. I add new songs as I hear them, so now that I’ve made it public I might update the list periodically, or I might wait until I’ve completed the story.

 

[Little Do You Know](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ikYpF9Bttbw) (Alex & Sierra)

[Paradise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7HlPM4lSZ1M) (Alina Baraz, Esta)

[505](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MrmPDUvKyLs) (Arctic Monkeys)

[Don’t Let Me Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tk6khCzRigo) (Ben Schuller)

[All I Want](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSHz94GxTUY) (Dawn Golden)

[Still Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=psVfrip08bQ) (Digital Daggers)

[Toxic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zfDxmFdHWIM) (District 78, feat. Cheesa)

[i hate u, i love u](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G3UeoZechSg) (gnash, feat. Olivia O’Brien)

[Coming Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRXO77hJGKA); [Empty Gold](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSVQicbrHQo); [Is There Somewhere](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=686SmDtBOu8); [Trouble - 1 Mic 1 Take](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_nXLWDqQTYU) (Halsey)

[Break My Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UNQ_Dm4eh4M) \- stripped (Hey Violet)

[Someone Who’ll Get It](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lk1RMdB-two) (Highasakite)

[Habits Of My Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CDJOP16yNdY), [One Last Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SHVBdutqSao) (Jaymes Young)

[Way Down We Go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X5y-Y7EumPk) (Kaleo)

[Broken](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kkL-KCpZCJQ) (Lauren Hoffman)

[Work This Out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DnSA7haCoBo) (Litany)

[Be Together](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lknBm2wGm0k) (Major Lazer, feat. Wild Belle)

[Heart Hope](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8PxNachuC50); [White Blood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T6esRjpMjNc) (Oh Wonder)

[Don’t Deserve You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Im5aoy5hKVA) (Plumb)

[Welcome Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8X9oMfiwdHo) (Radical Face)

[When The Lights Go Out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGSlwYiUhLg) (Sanctuaries)

[Bloodstream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8hD9SCMAQo) (Stateless)

[Better Than This - Soft Version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wio5CKuTV8Q) (Stubborn Heart)

[Rawnald Gregory Erickson the Second](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Du8viWKWEvM) (STRFKR)

[Angels](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJEV0Nf8big); [Intro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VPKfacgXao); [Night Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYZ8MjRe9K4), [Shelter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYMrzXus3n4), [Unfold](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLIQNuB__bk) (The xx)

[They Move On Tracks Of Never-Ending Light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-BrIa2fO90) (This Will Destroy You)

[Talking Body](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3-smYaKEs2k) (Tove Lo)

[FOOLS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bO2aIDDSE_w); [Happy Little Pill](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08PTSqu3dis); [Make You Love Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p8kfIURo27c); [Touch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5Lx9ug1GV8) (Troye Sivan)

[Unsteady](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4mUXqE29co) (X Ambassadors)

[Runaway](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-QqArc12juQ) (Yeah Yeah Yeahs)


	2. i. The Hunger

      After coming home from the amusement park, Ryouji sat on the couch, smoking a cigarette and watching the news while Tora made dinner. It hadn’t gone exactly how Tora had hoped, but then again, he wasn’t even sure how he _had_ been hoping for it to go. He had a nagging feeling that it was Ryouji who had bought and set free all the balloons but hadn’t asked, knowing his uncle would only deny it.

 _Even if he did do it, what does it mean?_ Tora thought to himself, moving automatically to wash the rice. _Does…does this mean I have a chance? But he said so himself, he only does it when he wants to…maybe he’s just trying to be nice to me. No, wait, that’s way too weird for him. Is he thinking that by going along with the…date…if you could even call it that…I’ll have sex with him? That’s definitely more his style, although if he really wanted to do it he’d probably just jump me. Or go find a woman…_

      Sighing softly, Tora began to doubt his plan to get romantically closer to his uncle even more. “What am I doing…?” he mumbled to himself.

      “What are you doing?” The question came from directly behind, startling Tora and causing him to nearly spill the rice.

      “W-w-w-what?” he asked, looking nervously over his shoulder at Ryouji, who at some point had gotten up and entered the kitchen.

      “You. You’ve been washing that rice for a while now.” The familiar glare drew Tora’s attention to his task at hand; the water in the pot was an opaque milky-white, a sure sign that the kernels were broken.

      “Ah—! Crap!” More than a little flustered, Tora hurried to drain the water, mentally berating himself. _Stupid, stupid…!_

      Ryouji watched his attempts to salvage the rice, expression set to his default scowl. After a moment he stepped up even closer behind his nephew, reaching around him to drop his cigarette in the sink, the sizzle as it came into contact with water overlapping with Tora’s gasp.

      “What were you thinking about?” the older man demanded to know.

      “Wha…I…n-nothing…” Tora hedged, subtly trying to move away and tensing as he realized he couldn’t.

      “Bullshit. You’ve been acting weird since a long time ago.”

      “I…don’t know what you’re talking about…” By this point, Tora’s voice was little more than a mumble as he fidgeted, still trying to get at least a little more distance from the overbearing presence of his uncle. He jumped as Ryouji’s hands suddenly slammed down on either side of him, solidly trapping him in place; he could sense the heat of his uncle’s chest nearly touching his back, and when he shifted his weight he could feel the front of Ryouji’s pants brush against his rear. _Oh god why, how did I manage to bring this upon myself…_ Tora begged silently, unable to completely stifle a small whimper.

      “Look, twerp,” Ryouji began, his voice low and rough, making Tora shiver as his breath ghosted against his neck. “I took you to that amusement park. You got your date. Now it’s been a damn long time since I’ve had any action, and as I see it, you owe me one. You know what usually happens after a date?” To emphasize his point, Ryouji nudged a little closer to Tora’s backside.

      Automatically, Tora pressed even further away, the edge of the sink digging into his hips. “I—! I wasn’t, th-that’s not what I was think—ah! R-Ryouji…!” He gasped as he felt his uncle’s tongue glide across his skin, the stubble on his chin dragging in its wake. “No, I haven’t made dinner yet!”

      “To hell with dinner,” came the growled response. “Remember what I said? Sex before food.”

      “No!” Tora continued to protest, even as Ryouji’s hands wandered to his waist, pushing up his shirt. “Stop it Ryouji, right now, I don’t want to right now…!”

      In response Ryouji grabbed his hips, pulling him back and grinding against Tora’s ass. Tora nearly moaned, biting his lip hard and his breath catching in his throat; he could feel the blush spreading up his neck to his ears and face, as well as the blood rushing to his nether regions. It had been a while for him, too, as long as Ryouji, since he hadn’t been able to relieve himself without thinking of his uncle, which then led to sadder thoughts.

      “Come on, I know you’re just as frustrated as I am.” _Is that even possible for a normal human?_ Tora wondered, determinedly not answering. “Unless you’ve been jacking off to me again? Speaking of which, you still owe me those royalties.” Ryouji’s hand suddenly gripped Tora’s crotch, drawing a soft cry. “Time to pay up.”

      “D…I don’t want to—ah! Mm, hah, a-ah…” Unable to hold back his voice, Tora’s hips jerked as Ryouji ground against him once more, simultaneously rubbing the half-hard bulge in the front of his nephew’s pants.

      “We’re doing it.” His tone brooked no arguments, intense and gravelly with lust.

      Tora twisted slightly to give his uncle a resentful look, eyes bright with the threat of tears, but ruined slightly by unmistakable arousal on his face. “…You’re horrible…” he whispered, voice trembling ever so slightly.

      “I’m about to get a lot worse,” came the growled response before Ryouji kissed him, hard and searing.

 

-

 

      Sitting naked on the bed, Tora wondered what on earth had possessed him that would make him fall in love with the man in front of him, who was staring all too intently at his nakedness.

      “…If you’re gonna do it, just do it,” mumbled the high schooler.

      “Not yet. First you’re going to masturbate for me.”

      Tora flushed. “You’re staring too much! Why do you want to see it so bad any—”

      “Shut up. I wanna see what you look like when you think about me. I want to see you want me.”

      Speechless, Tora’s mind blanked, and his cock twitching unwillingly at the heat those words brought to his body. _I always want you._ Opening and closing his mouth a couple times, he finally grit his teeth. “F…fine…but don’t stare so hard…” Unsurprisingly, his request was ignored.

      Blushing more than he knew he could, Tora slowly wrapped his hand around his erection. Audience or no, it had been a while, and it felt better than he wanted to admit. Beginning a stroking motion, he was horribly aware of his uncle’s gaze and yet aroused by his presence; as the pleasure built he added an occasional twist of his wrist, breath gradually coming shorter. At first he kept as silent as possible, biting his tongue as his free hand clutched the sheets, but as he felt himself getting closer and closer he began panting quietly, toes curling in anticipation. Pre-cum had started to leak freely from his member, dripping over his fingers and heightening his sensations, but although he was sure he was on the edge, he couldn’t quite climax. Tora’s hips jerked in frustration and he whined softly; as much as he loathed to admit it, especially in front of his uncle…

      “I…I can’t…” he panted, although his hand still worked almost of its own will to continue the pleasure.

      “What do you mean you can’t?” Ryouji’s voice was a sound of pure lust that sent lightning through Tora’s body, nearly pushing him over the edge.

      “Ah…! I ca…mm…can’t…” It was getting a bit difficult for Tora to concentrate on words, he wanted so badly to cum… “Nn…hah…it’s n…not enough…”

      “Tell me.” Oh god, if only Ryouji would just keep talking, or better yet touch, what Tora wouldn’t give for Ryouji to touch him right now, wasn’t he supposed to be the sex addict, _why was he just sitting there?_

      “I…I n-need…” Despite his desire, the embarrassment of saying what he needed welled up inside of Tora, suffocating the words.

      “What.”

      Tora whimpered at the single word. If only, if only Ryouji would say more with that voice of his, but it still wasn’t quite enough and he was so hard and so close it was starting to hurt; reluctantly, his whole body burning from shame and arousal, Tora’s hand released the sheets and slowly slid between his legs, hovering at the entrance of his hole. For a moment it seemed as though Ryouji stopped breathing, his eyes like black abysses that absorbed everything they saw. Then…

      “Do it.”

      And, oh, how Tora wished he could resist and stop and simply crawl away to die of embarrassment, but Ryouji had said so, Ryouji had commanded with a tone so rough Tora could almost feel it caressing him and pre-cum spilled out but he didn’t climax and he couldn’t take it anymore and his fingers slipped inside, first one, then two, and he was gasping and his hips were jerking and just a bit, just a bit deeper and—“R—Ryou…Ryouji, ah! Hah, ah! Ahh! R—!”—and then he was over the edge and with a shudder he came, spurting his load over his hand, his stomach, his thigh, mind temporarily lost to bliss as he slumped over, shivering while his body rode out the waves of the orgasm. “Ah…hah…hah…”

      Feeling exhausted, Tora’s eyes began to drift shut, but suddenly he felt movement on the bed and Ryouji was above him, shirt gone and a hand in Tora’s hair, turning his face up to meet his demanding mouth as he thrust against Tora’s leg, other hand yanking at his belt.

      “Mm...! R…Ryou…?” Tora tried to ask, but his uncle’s mouth was moving down his neck, teeth and tongue and lips, and Tora could only moan, still oversensitive from his recent climax.

      “Fuck—” Ryouji growled against his skin, “Fuck, you’re so fucking—”

      “W…w-wait, wait, I’m still—” Tora tried to protest, but Ryouji’s belt was gone and his pants were down and he grabbed Tora’s legs and positioned himself, only pausing to lick then bite Tora’s calf, making him shudder and gasp.

      “Fuck waiting, I’m going to fuck you senseless—”

      And suddenly Ryouji was thrusting in all at once and Tora cried out, his whole body bucking as he came again, but Ryouji didn’t stop, thrusting deeper and deeper as his fingers dug into Tora’s hips, teeth on his shoulder and Tora felt him come inside but if anything Ryouji got harder and continued to pound into him as Tora writhed.

      “N—ah! Uah! Ah! Ah!” Tora’s sight flickered wildly, his legs around his uncle’s waist as his hands grabbed desperately for any hold, one fisting the sheets and the other scrabbling at Ryouji’s bicep. “Ryou—ji—Ry—ah—nn—!!”

      His cries only seemed to entice the man more, Ryouji’s movements becoming even rougher as he climaxed again until he was ramming into Tora hard enough that if he had been able to think clearly he would have known that there would be bruises.

      “Fuck—don’t you ever— _ever_ —let anyone else…!!”

      For a third time Ryouji came with a growl as he left a mark above Tora’s collar bone, and Tora could only gasp for breath as senseless sounds escaped him and tears flowed from his eyes. Lifting Tora’s leg over his shoulder Ryouji began to hit even deeper than before and Tora choked on a strangled scream, his cum spattering the sheets wildly as Ryouji grunted, pressing his teeth against any flesh he could reach and then finally he climaxed once more, curling over Tora, their sweat mixing together with the cum on Tora’s body.

      For a long moment the only sounds were Ryouji’s harsh breathing and the quiet, half-sobs of Tora, barely conscious and trembling uncontrollably.

      “Shit…shit, Tora…” Ryouji murmured, running a hand over his nephew’s tear-slicked cheek. “Tora…Tora…”

      “Nn…nn…hah…ah…”

      Smoothing the hair back from Tora’s forehead, Ryouji slowly pulled out, Tora shuddering slightly with a whimper at the movement and his cock twitched, but there was nothing left to come out.

      “Fuck…oh, fuck…Tora…” For a moment Ryouji could only look at his nephew before he rubbed his face, then looked around and grabbed his discarded shirt.

      Movements surprisingly cautious, Ryouji began to wipe the worst of the mess from Tora’s body. With every touch a soft noise would escape from the exhausted teenager, and occasional, slight shudders would overtake him. After getting him mostly clean Ryouji used his hands to wipe the tears from Tora’s face.

      “Tora…hey, Tora.” Not really seeming to expect an answer, Ryouji spent another few moments just watching Tora slowly recover.

      Eventually he stood and went to the bathroom, turning on the water. Coming back out, he touched Tora’s shoulder. The only response he got was a soft groan, and Tora’s head turned slightly in his direction.

      “Tora. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

      As carefully as was possible for Ryouji, he slid an arm under Tora’s shoulders, then pulled his arm around his neck, slowly lifting him from the bed. Tora whimpered softly at the motion and some of Ryouji’s semen dribbled out from inside him and down his thigh.

      “Shit.” Ryouji pressed a kiss to Tora’s mouth, then carried him into the bathroom where he lowered him into the tub partially filled with warm water. Grabbing a washcloth he began the process of wiping down his nephew. When he finished, he picked him back up and dried him as well as he could, then carried him out to the living room, laying him down on the couch. Fetching some clothes from Tora’s room Ryouji dressed him and covered him with a blanket.

      Tora taken care of, Ryouji ran a hand through his hair, then settled for stripping the bed and tossing the soiled sheets in a pile with the clothes. Done with cleaning he returned to the living room to check on Tora again, as though he might have woken up in the minute Ryouji was gone. His nephew remained unconscious, however, and eventually Ryouji moved on to the kitchen, rummaging for ingredients before starting to cook.


	3. ii. The Ache

      When Tora came around, the first thing that registered was the intense ache from…well, all over, but especially from his hips. He groaned quietly, dreading having to get up. The only things he felt safe moving were his fingers and toes, and those alone wouldn’t allow him to get the chores done. Speaking of which, the laundry was going to be one hell of a mess to take care of. He’d have to do that as soon as possible. Hopefully it hadn’t all dried up yet…and where was he, anyway? Tora didn’t think that Ryouji would have let him sleep in the same bed but he couldn’t quite remember what had happened after…

      Squinting his eyes open, Tora noticed the back of the couch blocking his left side vision. Turning his head slightly to the right, he saw Ryouji sitting in a chair brought from the kitchen, just watching him—which of course made Tora flush as he remembered how Ryouji had watched him before, when they were “finishing the date.”

 _How long have I been asleep?_ Tora wondered, forcing himself to ignore the pain and attempting to at least prop himself up on an arm. His uncle was probably waiting for food, and hunger had never made his mood better. “S…sorry Ryouji, I’ll make some—” Tora stopped abruptly and couldn’t suppress a shiver as he felt something leak out from inside him. _He…he didn’t use a condom?! And it’s still inside…!_ At the same moment, Tora realized he wasn’t wearing boxers. Blushing furiously, he almost didn’t hear his uncle’s question.

      “You feeling okay?”

      “H-huh?” Was that right? Was Ryouji expression concern for him? Or at the very least curiosity about his well-being? When Ryouji just scowled at him, awaiting his response, Tora figured it would be better to give him an answer, even if he’d misheard the question. “Um…I guess…I’m a little sore…” _What are the chances of me getting struck by lightning right now?_ Tora wondered, but then his stomach grumbled and he seized the opportunity to change the subject. “Ah! I-I’ll go make dinner.”

      Lowering his legs to the floor and sitting up fully, Tora flinched as the pain in his hips and rear intensified, as well as the feeling of slick dampness in his shorts. _Oh god, how many times did we do it?_

      “I already made food.” Ryouji’s comment surprised Tora enough to meet his eyes, despite his embarrassment. “You want some?”

      “Uhh…I think I’ll take a bath first, then…”

      Ryouji just nodded and Tora slowly stood up, new aches coming to his attention as he made his way gingerly to the bathroom. With every step he could feel Ryouji’s cum drip down his thigh a little more and didn’t even bother to get a change of clothes, shutting the door behind him as quickly as possible before letting his shorts drop to the floor. His shirt followed, but then Tora paused, staring at the shower seat in trepidation. If it had hurt to sit on the couch, then the hard shower seat would be much, much worse. Sighing, he settled for kneeling down beside it with one hand on the seat to help balance himself as he gradually sat back on his heels. A blush spread all the way across his shoulders when he considered what he was about to do, but there was no avoiding it. He couldn’t possibly walk around all day with cum in his ass.

 _Even a woman doesn’t have to do this…_ The position felt awkward as Tora reached between his legs, inserting a finger and cringing slightly at the bruised feeling. Scraping semen out of himself was a new experience and one he desperately hoped wouldn’t have to happen again. It was a little puzzling as to why his uncle hadn’t worn a condom; Tora knew there was an abundance of condoms in various places throughout the apartment, and on multiple occasions he’d found them in Ryouji’s pockets while doing laundry. Maybe he’d just felt like it? It wasn’t like he’d have to worry about Tora getting pregnant, after all…

      Tora was almost done with the last of it when he heard the door open.

      Before he could stop himself he had looked around, wobbling dangerously at the movement, and never before had he wanted so badly to just die and get the embarrassment over with so that Ryouji wouldn’t be able to look at him anymore.

      “Ryou…” Tears prickled in his eyes as the slow burn of shame covered his entire body. “Ah, th-this isn’t…” But he didn’t know what else to say. Ryouji had just walked in on him with his fingers in his ass. What must he think of him? No, Tora didn’t want to think about that or else he really would start crying…

      Ryouji’s expression twitched and he looked away, but he didn’t seem disgusted, more like…disappointed? “You forgot clothes.” He set the clean ones in his hands on the edge of the dirty clothes basket.

      “O-oh…” Tora’s voice was small and shaky and he hated it, and he hated his heart for tightening a little with happiness because Ryouji had noticed, and Ryouji had cared, and he hated himself for Ryouji’s sake for falling in love with his uncle. “Thank you.” And now his voice was little more than a whisper and he lowered his head so that Ryouji wouldn’t see his tears, to save himself at least a shred of privacy.

      “…Sorry.”

      The word registered a few seconds after he heard it, and Tora looked around in shock. “…W-what?” But his uncle was already gone.

      Wiping his eyes, Tora finished his task and washed his hands, then his legs, and then began filling the bathtub. Had Ryouji really just apologized? To _him?_ And for what?

 _I mean, he did walk in without knocking, but he’s never apologized for something like that before._ In fact, now that Tora thought about it, he wasn't sure he’d ever heard his uncle apologize before. It just wasn’t in his nature.

      Getting into the tub was like sinking into heaven; as the hot water enveloped him, Tora felt his muscles relax, and the warmth soothed his aching body in the best way possible. With a sigh, he submerged himself until only his head was above water, eyes drifting shut. He wanted nothing more than to just fall asleep and stay in the wonderful, wonderful heat forever, but he knew that was a bad idea, and so reluctantly opened his eyes, splashing some water on his cheeks. It wouldn’t hurt to just stay there for a little while, though…in fact, it hurt _less_ to stay there than to walk around.

 _Don’t fall asleep, don’t fall asleep,_ Tora chanted to himself as he relaxed even more into the glorious warmth and the floating feeling the water gave him. In an effort to stay awake he started humming the tune to a popular song that everyone would listen to at school during breaks. It was only after he began quietly singing what lyrics he could recall that it registered what exactly the song was. “ _Doushite…kimi wo suki ni natte shimattan darou…donna ni_ …hmhmhm…hm…”

 _Wait, no,_ he realized, blushing as the song continued in his head and sinking down so just his nose was above the water. _What’s with that song?? Crap, I don’t want this in my head!_ Dunking under and surfacing quickly he scrubbed his face, but the tune was stuck solidly on repeat and wasn’t about to leave any time soon. _Damn…_ Tora really didn’t feel like crying again, especially not over a stupid love song. Then he really would be just like a girl.

      The door opened again and Ryouji stood there, looking at Tora. Tora looked back at him, hoping that the leftover flush on his cheeks would just be mistaken for heat from the bath, and thank god there was water dripping down his face so that his eyes wouldn’t look quite so shiny. After a few seconds Ryouji shut the door again and Tora released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. _What was that about?_ Deciding he should probably get out before Ryouji decided to peep again—if something that obvious could even qualify as peeping—Tora heaved himself up, groaning slightly as the aches renewed, although not as intensely as before the bath. Drying himself off and relieved to see boxers with the fresh clothes his uncle had brought, Tora got dressed and made his way out to the kitchen. It was easier to walk, but he wasn’t looking forward to sitting on a kitchen chair.

      To his surprise, Ryouji was sitting on the couch, a few modest dishes of food arranged on the coffee table. Not entirely sure what this meant despite the obvious implications, Tora hesitated before speaking up.

      “Ryouji…?”

      Glaring over his shoulder at his nephew, the only thing that moved was Ryouji’s mouth. “Come here.”

      Tora went.

      “Sit down.”

      Confused, Tora gingerly lowered himself onto the couch, keeping a measured distance between himself and Ryouji.

      “Eat.”

      Even more confused, Tora hesitated before slowly dishing some food onto a plate. The cooking was simple, but it smelled delicious, and his stomach grumbled loudly. Still, he hesitated again before saying almost cautiously, “Th…thank you for the meal.”

      Ryouji just grunted in response and Tora began eating. While he felt like all he wanted to do was dig in, instead he held back, overly-conscious of Ryouji sitting right next to him and not doing anything, as well as the perpetual thoughts about his uncle that circled inside his head. Still, Tora managed to clean off his plate entirely. He hadn’t expected Ryouji’s cooking to taste so good.

      “You want more?”

      “Er…” Tora was more confused than ever. Was Ryouji mad or something? But he wasn’t acting mad—or, well, no angrier than he usually was. In fact, he was asking more questions than he ever had, except for maybe the time when he wouldn’t let the 3P thing drop. Feeling pressured under his uncle’s stare, Tora loaded more food onto his plate. After finishing that he set his chopsticks on his plate and placed his hands on his knees, pleasantly full. “Thank you for the meal.”

      Ryouji grunted again.

      Silence fell and gnawed uncomfortably at Tora’s mind, so after some internal struggling he spoke up again. “Um…Ryouji, I’m sorry about—”

      “Shut up.”

      Tora shut up. This time the silence was heavier, crushing down on him, and he could only take a few moments of it before standing up, only wincing a little at the motion. “I’ll…I’m going to do laundry—”

      “Laundry can wait. Go to bed.”

      Tora couldn’t help it; he gaped at his uncle. What the hell had gotten into him? “…It’s fine, I’m not really tired any—”

      “Shut up.”

      “B-but the sheets are—”

      “I said shut up.”

      He didn’t care if it was his uncle, not being allowed to finish his sentences was really starting to get on Tora’s nerves. “Ryouji—” he started again, flushing slightly in annoyance, but once again he was cut off by a growl from his uncle.

      “Shut up and go the fuck to bed!”

      Tora snapped. “Would you let me talk?” he demanded angrily. “I said I’d do the chores and the sheets are a mess after—” here he faltered, but then plowed on stubbornly, “—after _that_ and if I don’t wash them soon they might stain!”

      Ryouji glared at him as though Tora had no right to fight back, which only irked him further.

      “You know what, fine!” Throwing his hands in the air, unmindful of the painful tug on his muscles, Tora turned away. “If you want to sleep in that, go ahead! I don’t care!”

      “I’m sleeping on the couch. You sleep in the bed. I already changed the sheets.”

      Those words threw Tora completely off-balance and his anger derailed in the confusion. Turning back he stared at his uncle like he might have grown another head, but Ryouji was already starting to collect the dishes. _What are you doing?_ Tora screamed in his mind, but was too stunned to voice anything. Even after Ryouji had put the food away and the dishes in the sink Tora still stood where he was, uncertain as to whether what he thought was happening was actually happening. It wasn’t until Ryouji came back and stretched out on the couch, pulling the guest blanket over himself, that he spoke again.

      “What—you plannin’ on watching me sleep or something? Go to bed, kid.”

      Slightly dazed, Tora turned and started towards the bedroom automatically. His uncle’s next words, however, almost floored him.

      “And don’t bother getting up in the morning—I can make my own damn breakfast.”

 _What is he trying to do to me?_ Tora thought, staring blankly at the freshly made bed. _Am I—am I still asleep? Did I somehow wake up in an alternate universe? Did Ryouji actually fuck me to death?_

      The idea almost made him laugh as he climbed under the covers, a part of him grateful for the mattress which was much softer than the storage room’s—his room’s—floor. Sinking back into the pillows, Tora felt wide awake. In the back of his mind that stupid song was still running, and Tora tried his best to ignore it. It suddenly hit him that he was in Ryouji’s bed; he was about to sleep in Ryouji’s bed, and even if Ryouji wasn’t there, it was _Ryouji’s,_ and Tora was there _with Ryouji’s permission._ Tora felt his chest tighten painfully and his eyes stung, and _don’t you dare, don’t you dare fucking cry_ , he thought to himself, but everything smelled of Ryouji, his aftershave with a hint of cigarettes and faintly, underneath it all, his sweat, and now Tora’s stomach hurt too, and his whole inside ached along with his outside and salty warmth spilled over his cheeks as he closed his eyes and turned his head, burying his face in the pillows.

_Why are you doing this to me?_

      That night, Tora cried more quietly than he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Tora's singing in the bathtub is Doushite Kimi Wo Suki Ni Natte Shimattan Darou?—just look up the lyrics and you'll see why it's so fitting. It's funny, and very perfect, because that song was actually in the top ten during the same year this manga was started.
> 
> Basically I saw a chance and I took it.


	4. i. Isolation

      It was the third day after the amusement park trip and Tora was at home instead of school. The day before, Ryouji had surprised him by taking the day off and staying home, watching TV and ordering takeout for the both of them…and making sure Tora rested. Despite his insistence that he could go today, that it would be better if he _did_ go, Ryouji had ordered him to stay home or else he’d “make fucking sure Tora couldn’t leave the god damn bed, forget leaving the god damn house.” Knowing his uncle, Tora hadn’t doubted his threat in the least. But now Tora was worried; with Ryouji gone back to work, and mildly sex-deprived at that (for Ryouji, three days was a long time), there was no reason why he wouldn’t go to his usual place to get some. In fact, with Tora acting so fragile, there was even more reason for his uncle to not bother waiting and just hook up with his sex friend.

      Too agitated to stay still, Tora got out of bed (Ryouji’s bed, where Ryouji had practically forced him to lie down before leaving) and wandered around the apartment. Even if Ryouji wouldn’t let him go to school, he could certainly clean up—with Ryouji taking care of the chores the place was starting to revert to its original state, and Tora wouldn’t let that happen while he could still move. After picking up the trash that had started to accumulate, he vacuumed every bit of carpet he could get to, dusted everything he could reach, did the dishes, started the laundry, and was working on cleaning the entire bathroom when his fatigue caught up with him and he slipped on the wet floor. Luckily, through a combination of quick reflexes and intense flailing, he managed to avoid landing on his rear, but ended up slamming his forearm against the tile. For a few minutes he remained motionless where he was, cradling his arm and willing the pain away, and eventually was able to sit up. His elbow and wrist throbbed with every movement but Tora gritted his teeth and went to the kitchen, putting some ice in a bag and resting it against his arm.

      He stayed like that until the washing machine chimed that its job was done, and then he hung the laundry to dry and returned to icing his brand new bruise. After a few hours he went to check the laundry and brought the dried items in, folding and putting them away before getting fresh ice for his arm. After another few hours he brought in, folded, and put away the rest of the laundry, and then set about preparing dinner. The rice was cooking and Tora was chopping tofu into cubes for miso soup when the door opened. Bracing himself, Tora continued cutting up the ingredients like he hadn’t heard his uncle arrive, but his focus was almost entirely on what he could hear.

      When Ryouji walked in, the first thing he noticed was the smell of dinner. He then took in the Tora-clean living room. Slipping his shoes off, he went and checked the laundry (of which there was none), then paused to look at the mostly cleaned bathroom. Finally, he went to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. His disapproving silence hung like a cloud around him, but Tora ignored him, determined to not say anything first. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

      “…I thought I told you to take it easy.”

 _That is_ definitely _not what you said,_ was Tora’s first instinctive reply, but he stifled it, and after a second said, “I feel fine. Besides, I was bored, and there was nothing else to do.”

      Footsteps approached and it took all of Tora’s self-control to not turn around, and then to not follow his secondary reflex of freezing in place and bracing himself for whatever Ryouji might do. Instead, he scooped up the cubes of tofu and dropped them into the pot of water on the stove, his hands shaking imperceptibly. As he moved on to the green onions, Ryouji suddenly pressed his hand none-too-gently against Tora’s side. Fortunately Tora had been expecting that and hardly even winced, instead giving his uncle a brief, mildly annoyed look.

      “I told you, I’m fine,” he insisted, pushing Ryouji’s hand away.

      There was a moment of silence in which Ryouji didn’t reply, and then he grabbed Tora’s arm—his right arm, which had begun to bloom with the bruise from his fall in the bathroom. Tora gasped as pain lanced all the way up to his shoulder and he dropped the knife, scattering the chopped bits of onion.

      “What’s this?” Ryouji demanded in a hard tone, not loosening his grip.

      “Nothing!” Despite his protests, Tora couldn’t help but lean towards Ryouji, trying to lessen the pressure on the contusion.

      Expressionless, his uncle slowly applied more force, and Tora hissed, tears springing to his eyes.

      “…Ow! Stop! It hurts, Ryouji, stop!” Unable to hold back his cry of pain, Tora jerked away as his uncle released him, backing away and clutching his arm to his chest.

      “Tch. Don’t do stupid shit.”

      Sulking now, Tora refused to meet his eye, missing the look on Ryouji’s face as he watched his nephew.

      “…Go sit down. I’ll finish this.”

      “I can finish it myself,” Tora muttered defiantly, but Ryouji was having none of it.

      “ _Go._ ”

      Angrily, Tora walked to the living room, still aching too much to storm. Staring at the couch, fists clenched, he forced back the tears that threatened to fall. He’d been doing altogether too much crying lately. After some time he heard Ryouji bring the food out to the table.

      “Food’s ready.”

      “I’m not hungry,” grouched Tora, not turning around.

      Ryouji snorted. “Fine. Suit yourself, brat.”

      Tora flushed, knowing that Ryouji was right, that he was acting like a brat, and felt even angrier that he knew he was right. After a few moments of listening to Ryouji eating alone, Tora turned around sullenly and went to sit at the table.

      “Thought you weren’t hungry.”

      “Shut up,” muttered the teenager, dishing himself some food while still pretending to ignore his uncle. Ryouji snickered shortly and Tora reddened. “I practically made it myself, I’m not going to let you eat all of it.”

      “Right,” the older man replied.

      Silence settled between the two save for the sounds of eating, but Tora refused to be the one to break it and Ryouji apparently had no interest either way. Ryouji took seconds and Tora finished his food, standing up and collecting his dishes to take to the kitchen.

      “I’m doing the dishes.” It was a statement, a fact of Ryouji’s life, but Tora ignored him and gathered the rest of the dishes from the dinner prep, getting ready to wash them.

      Only a minute or so after he had started, Ryouji joined him, setting the new dishes by him and crowding next to him to help. Normally Tora would have fought to not budge an inch, but Ryouji was bigger and stronger than him and kept jostling Tora’s bruised arm.

 _He’s doing it on purpose,_ Tora thought furiously. _He wants me to give up and run away and I_ won’t. _This time I won’t, I don’t care if he breaks my arm, I’m not going to let him push me around._

      Washing the dishes side by side with his uncle, it became something of a competition; Tora would wash a dish and go to set it in the sink for rinsing; Ryouji would take the dish before Tora could let go of it, pressing his arm against Tora’s bruise for however long Tora could stand it before he had to pull away. As determined as he was not to lose, Tora gradually realized he was in something of a predicament. Pain aside, every few moments his bare arm was coming into contact with Ryouji’s bare arm, and they were standing literally hip-to-hip, Ryouji’s entire leg pushing against Tora’s. He could feel the subtle shifts of his uncle’s muscles as he moved and sometimes Ryouji’s elbow would brush his side, and the whole thing had Tora’s heart beating a little harder than he would have ever admitted. In fact, the pain was beginning to offer a weird, new aspect to the whole ordeal, and a flutter started in Tora’s stomach that gradually began to move lower…he felt a blush creeping up his neck, but that only served to anger him further, and now Tora was _really_ determined not to lose.

      It got to the point where Tora was down to the last few dishes, a heavy saucepan in hand, and when he went to pass it to Ryouji and Ryouji pressed his arm against Tora’s, a lance of pain shot through his wrist and something else lanced south of his stomach. He barely managed to stifle a gasp and would have dropped the pot—he did drop the pot—only Ryouji was already holding it so nothing happened. Ryouji raised his eyebrows at Tora, as though asking if he was done. Gritting his teeth, Tora ignored him and grabbed the next dish, washing it and shoving it into his uncle’s hand. A barely imperceptible grin that Tora didn’t noticed crossed briefly over Ryouji’s face, and then they were back into the routine, wash, pass, pain, rinse.

      Finally the last dish was done and Tora spun around and walked as quickly as he could out of the kitchen.

      “I’m going to bed,” he announced before Ryouji could say anything, a bit louder than necessary.

      Before he was out of earshot, though, his uncle said, “Make something good for breakfast.”

      “Make it yourself, idiot!” Tora snapped, ignoring the happy little jump his insides did and going to the bedroom surrounded by a cloud of irritation. He didn’t care if Ryouji was okay with him going back to school tomorrow; he didn’t need his permission anyway. And if Ryouji wanted the bed, well, he was going to have to drag Tora out of it, because Tora wasn’t going to give it up without a fight, not tonight. He was in all kind of moods for a fight and in no kind of mood for giving up or being nice to his jerk of an uncle.

      Tora wasn’t even tired as he wrapped the covers around himself angrily, trying to ignore the fact that everything still smelled of Ryouji. If anything it was even more difficult to ignore than usual, no thanks to his still semi-hard dick from the competition in the kitchen. Tora absolutely refused to deal with it, though; he wasn’t going to masturbate to thoughts of Ryouji after that showdown with the dishes, and he most certainly wasn’t going to do it in Ryouji’s _bed._ Which smelled of Ryouji. Very strongly. Tora felt a slow heat pool in his stomach with every breath and although he tried to keep his breathing even and his heartbeat relaxed and slow, he couldn’t help but wonder, what if he did? What if he did just touch himself and get it over with? It’s not like Ryouji would ever know, and even if he did, maybe Ryouji deserved to come to bed the next night and find cum in his sheets.

      Two things stopped Tora from going through with it: The first was sheer stubbornness; if he jerked off in Ryouji’s bed, then that meant that he had lost. And second, Tora could still remember the shame of being unable to climax without putting his fingers in. The thought alone was enough to make his face burn and the tips of his ears felt like they were on fire; Tora started to squirm uncomfortably but stopped as soon as that worsened the problem in his shorts. Feeling increasingly frustrated, thinking about it only made it worse, and Tora’s breathing started to become shallower despite his efforts. _No, I’m not going to do it, if I do it I lose and that jerk Ryouji wins,_ Tora told himself sternly, but his erection was impossible to ignore, hot and hard against his thigh.

      Suddenly, Tora heard footsteps. Wondering furiously if Ryouji somehow knew what Tora was thinking or what kind of state he was in, his heart almost stopped as he felt the bed dip under his uncle’s weight. _Oh god, oh god, oh god oh god oh god…_ he thought furiously to himself, not quite sure if he was praying for something or against something, but then Ryouji was lying down and Tora’s heart was in his throat, palms sweaty as he unconsciously held his breath. But nothing happened. Which was almost worse than something happening, because now Tora could feel the weight of him there, not touching him, but probably dangerously close to touching him because even with Tora practically against the wall and Ryouji probably on the edge of the bed, it was still too close in a single bed and it was _Ryouji’s bed, and Ryouji was in the bed and Tora was in the bed with him_ and Tora’s heart was about to burst and he couldn’t take it.

      Mutely, Tora sat up, shoving the blankets off of himself and in Ryouji’s direction, before crawling down to the foot of the bed rather than try and climb over Ryouji and quietly padding out of the room. Going to the bathroom he stood in front of the sink and turned on the cold water, splashing some on his hot face and drinking a few mouthfuls. Nowhere near calm but at least able to breathe again, Tora went to his room and shut the door, pulling his blanket all the way up to his ears and crushing his arousal beneath the abundance of shame that was crushing him.

 

-

 

      Ryouji felt Tora leaving. Not just the dipping of the bed and the push of the blankets, but he felt Tora’s presence exit the room, making it that much emptier. He hadn’t though much of it when he’d come in and laid on the bed. He hadn’t planned on doing anything more to Tora, had actually felt a little proud of Tora for standing his ground and toughing it out. The kid was stronger than he looked—stronger than he acted, too. So he thought that maybe he’d try and…Ryouji actually wasn’t sure what exactly he had been planning, but maybe in the back of his mind he’d thought that it would be something of a reward for Tora. But then Tora had left. Tora had gone to the storage room, his room, and shut the door, as though he needed even that little bit more between him and Ryouji. Rather than the annoyance he expected, Ryouji felt a slightly bitter sense of disappointment. Unused to that particular taste, he shoved it away and rolled into the blankets, closing his eyes firmly. It wasn’t like it mattered, anyway. Tora did his thing and Ryouji did his. Sometimes they just happened to overlap, that was all.

      The last thing that registered in Ryouji’s mind before he fell asleep was the faint scent of Tora in the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy your angst.


	5. ii. Satisfaction

      “What happened to you?” Shibuya asked as soon as he saw Tora.

      “I fell,” mumbled Tora, slumping into his seat and trying to rest as much weight as he could on his legs.

      “Did you fall off one of the rides at the amusement park or something? How did that go, anyway? Give me details.”

      Tora sighed heavily. “It was…I don’t know. It started out not so great, but then it got kind of nice at the end.”

      “What’s with the gloomy face, then?”

      “After we got back…actually, the whole weekend was just weird. Like sometimes it was okay and then sometimes it was just…weird.”

      Shibuya tilted his head. “Does you missing school for two days have anything to do with it?”

      “Umm…maybe?”

      “Don’t tell me you got in a fight and spent an entire day having make up sex.”

      Tora almost choked. “N—no! God, no, don’t…don’t talk about it like that, okay??”

      “What? You guys are sex fr—”

      Tora shoved his hands over his friend’s mouth at the same time the bell rang.

      “We’re not!” he hissed as people began taking their seats. “Or…well…I don’t really know, but don’t say it so loud!”

      “Yeah, yeah,” Shibuya waved his hand. “Don’t worry, I want you to be happy. Even if I am a little jealous.”

      Tora just flushed in embarrassment, and yet at the same time he felt a slight sinking feeling. Happy? Was something like that even possible in his situation?

 

-

 

      “Senpai, you seem even more irritated than usual,” commented Hirose. Ryouji was staring hard at nothing in particular, cigarette dangling from his lips, and didn’t respond. “Senpai, I can’t tell if you’re ignoring me or if you’re just daydreaming…”

      “Shut up, Mimi.”

      “You’re so mean, Senpai~”

      “You fucking hard of hearing?”

      “You hurried home so early yesterday, did you make up with Tora-chan?”

      Ryouji’s jaw clenched as he glared at his partner.

      “Ehh, it’s because I’m worried about you, worried about you…!” Hirose cowered with a nervous grin. “And Tora-chan.”

      “Better shove your foot in your mouth before I do it for you,” Ryouji growled threateningly.

      “Sorry Senpai, my bad~!”

 

-

 

      Dinner at the apartment was quiet. Tora would die before he brought up the events of the previous night, and Ryouji seemed completely unfazed. _Maybe I’m just overthinking things,_ Tora speculated, eating on autopilot. _I probably am. Ryouji probably doesn’t care, he just wanted to sleep in his bed instead of on the couch._ Tora’s expression slowly became gloomy. _In the end, he didn’t even have to kick me out or anything. I just ran away._

      “…How was school?”

      Lost in thought, Tora didn’t react to his uncle’s question.

      “Hey. Tora.” Ryouji kicked Tora’s foot lightly beneath the table (well, lightly for Ryouji), and Tora jumped.

      “Huh—what? Sorry, I wasn’t listening…”

      “School. How was it.”

      “Oh. Um, it was…alright…” _No way am I going to tell him that Shibuya gives me advice on how to woo him,_ Tora thought feverishly to himself. _And he must_ never _find out that my best friend thinks he’s a really sexy, older lady._ “How was work?” he rushed to follow up.

      “Fine.” Ryouji returned to eating in silence and Tora withered a little inside.

_What did we used to talk about? What happened to those times when we could actually make eye-contact without things feeling awkward? Did I screw them all up? Are they gone because of me? Is all of this my fault?_

      Not so deep down, Tora knew the answer.

 

-

 

      Two days later, and five days since the last time Ryouji had had sex. It wasn’t like he was consciously counting them; it was just something he was very aware of. Especially since the last time he’d had sex it was with Tora, and things had gone…badly. For Tora, specifically. Ryouji knew he wasn’t exactly a gentle person—far from it—but in his entire sexual career he’d never been like that. Good thing Tora was a guy and not a girl, otherwise things might have been a lot worse.

      Immediately after thinking that something pinched at his mind. Not annoyance. Guilt? But it didn’t feel like the guilt Ryouji had felt after Hirose told Tora about Ryouji’s meeting with Yumi. That still irked him…but no. And why would he feel guilty about thinking that, just this once, it was fortunate that Tora was a guy instead of a girl? And there it was again, that pinching emotion. God, this whole thing was just irritating. Ryouji remembered the days when he used to just have sex and that was it. None of this complicated emotional bullshit. But then he remembered how he felt watching Tora jack off with Ryouji’s name on his lips, the pale skin of his shoulders and chest flushed red, those slender fingers dipping inside himself while pre-cum spilled over his hand…

      Damn. Damn it all. It had only been five days; why the hell did he feel so pent up?

 

-

 

      Tora could feel Ryouji watching him. It had been five days; Tora was counting. He couldn’t help it. He was just waiting for the day when Ryouji would come home, smelling of aftershave and cigarettes, alcohol and cheap perfume. It terrified him. But it hadn’t happened yet, and while the relief in Tora was palpable, he only fretted more. It hadn’t happened yet, but what about the next day? Or the next? And now Ryouji was watching him the same way Ryouji always watched him when he was thinking about sex. Tora almost wished his uncle would just ask him so he could say yes and then he wouldn’t have to worry anymore, but Tora could feel that, even though he could go to school and do the chores, he still carried the bruises from that night.

      And so Tora pretended to not notice and finished the dishes and told Ryouji he was going to take a bath. Ryouji just nodded, cigarette glowing softly between his fingers.

 

-

 

      It was the eighth day and Ryouji was feeling tense. Every morning he got up and saw Tora in the kitchen, and Tora would see him and blush, and Ryouji just wanted to touch him but he wouldn’t. Because he knew it wouldn’t stop there, and Tora was still hurting. But if things kept on this way, he’d probably explode and do the exact same thing again. No, maybe he wouldn’t. But did he really want to take that chance? Tora couldn’t even remember most of the events that happened that night; Ryouji hadn’t lied when he’d said he was going to fuck him senseless. But Ryouji remembered, and he especially remembered the sight of his cum dripping out from Tora and fucking hell if he hadn’t wanted to throw Tora back on that sticky mess of a bed and tongue fuck him back to consciousness before doing the whole thing over again.

      This train of thought really wasn’t helping his whole “wait until Tora recovers” plan, but he wanted to do it, damn it. It was natural for a guy his age to want sex. It wasn’t particularly normal for a guy to want sex with his younger-by-ten-years nephew, but then again, not everybody had a nephew like Tora who would kiss them awake and confess his attraction to them. Hyodo had made it abundantly clear that Tora was appealing to faggots, but even Mimi was showing a dangerous interest in Tora. Every time Ryouji heard the words “Tora-chan” from his partner’s mouth he wanted to shit stomp him until he couldn’t say anything. Which was a pretty violent reaction to simple words, even for Ryouji.

      Anyway, his real problem right now was the text from Yumi glaring from his phone screen. She was asking if he wanted to meet up, and after the whole feeling-guilty-over-Tora fiasco he wasn’t sure if he would have said yes, but that was before he was in danger of losing it and plowing a still-hurting Tora. The real question was, which guilt would be worse? After scowling at his phone like it was the real cause of his problems, Ryouji sent back a short, one-word reply and stood up from his desk, pulling out his empty pack of cigarettes.

      “Wait! Where are you going, Senpai?” Hirose asked desperately from behind a mountain of paperwork.

      “Out,” Ryouji said shortly. “I need some more smokes.”

 

-

 

      Yumi was waiting in the lobby of the hotel.

      “I thought maybe you weren’t going to show,” she pouted, wrapping her hands around Ryouji’s arm and pulling it against her breasts.

      Glancing downward, Ryouji noted that he still found them appealing; it wasn’t like he found women, or at least Yumi, any less attractive than he had before, it was just that when he thought of Tora, slick with sweat and cum…

      Ryouji growled irritably. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with, I still have work to do and Mimi thinks I’ve gone out for smokes.”

      “So impatient, Ryouji~”

      “Yeah, yeah.”

      Pushing into the room Yumi had rented, Ryouji didn’t hesitate in pinning her against the wall with a leg between her thighs. She gasped and he took the chance to slip his tongue in her mouth, working her into a trembling mess as she fumbled at his clothes.

      “You didn’t text me at all, Ryouji,” she whined, rubbing against his leg and sighing as his hands went up her shirt.

      Ryouji just growled in response, stripping her of her top and then her bra as he worked a trail of nips and kisses down her neck and across her shoulder. Yumi’s skin was soft and smelled faintly of some type of lotion; in comparison, Tora’s was a bit more textured, but smooth and almost translucent. He was soft for a guy, probably, and he probably could have rivaled Yumi if he put the time and money into it that Yumi did, but that would have been more than a little weird.

      Gripping her hips, Ryouji hoisted her up, feeling her legs wrap around his waist and recalling how Tora, shaking, crying Tora had done the same thing, trying desperately to grab onto something as though to anchor himself while Ryouji messed him up. Finding himself with his mouth above Yumi’s collar bone, the same spot he had marked Tora, Ryouji wound his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her neck to his mouth.

      “Ah! W-wow, you’re…you’re really aggressive today, Ryouji…” Yumi gasped, panting as she fumbled blindly at his belt. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a little more time off from work…?”

      Ryouji just growled again and pushed her skirt up around her waist, hooking his fingers over the waistband of her tights and underwear. There had been one time when Ryouji simply ripped her tights off, but she’d gotten mad at him for that and made him buy her a new pair. It wasn’t his fault they were so damn easy to tear. Shorts and boxers came off much easier. In response to his hands, Yumi wriggled her hips, helping him to pull down her undergarments; she had successfully unfastened his belt and freed his length, and Ryouji grabbed her ass, wanting to get on with it already, but she gasped, “Wait! W-where’s the condom?” and Ryouji made a frustrated sound and fumbled at his pocket, and Yumi said, “Put me down, let me help,” so he did.

      And then he was ripping open the condom wrapper and Yumi was rolling it expertly over his erection and moving as though to go down on him and Ryouji grabbed her arm and growled, “No, I’m putting it in,” because he needed to be inside a body right this instant and he remembered than Yumi didn’t like being throat fucked. Pushing her onto the bed Ryouji positioned himself and Yumi gasped and sighed and Ryouji flashed back to the way Tora said his name as he came with his fingers in his ass because the front hadn’t been enough, and then he was pushing into her and Yumi’s breath caught in her throat and she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him as he began to move.

      With his hands on her hips he thrust hard and deep. Yumi was so soft, not like Tora; Tora wasn’t as soft, Tora was more firm, and Ryouji remembered how he had thrust so deeply into Tora, fucking Tora, who had cum the moment Ryouji entered him even though he had just masturbated and _fuck_ that had been hot, Tora covered in his own semen because of Ryouji and screaming his name—but it was Yumi who was crying his name, Yumi with her hands on his shoulders and her soft lips on his neck.

      “Ry—Ryouji—! Too—you’re being—too rough—I’m gonna break…!”

      So Ryouji slowed and now Yumi was moaning in that sweet, sexy voice of hers, but in the back of his mind Ryouji was hearing Tora’s small, broken cries as Ryouji pounded deeper and deeper inside him and it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough and Ryouji understood what Tora had meant. Yumi was soft and gentle and sexy as hell, but she was too soft, and it wasn’t enough. And suddenly Ryouji realized that even if he finished here, even if Yumi was well-satisfied and they both went back to work, when Ryouji got home and saw Tora just out of the bath with water dripping down his neck, he’d still want to grab him and pin him down and fuck him till he cried.

      So Ryouji stopped. They were both short of breath and sweaty, and Yumi looked at him in confusion and Ryouji remember the way Tora had looked at him when he had woken up on the couch, when he saw the dinner Ryouji had made for him, when he had said that Tora didn’t need to make him breakfast—

      “I need a smoke.” Ryouji’s voice was gruff and he knew Yumi would be pissed at him, but he didn’t care, hadn’t ever really cared all that much because he knew she wouldn’t stay that way, and then he was throwing the condom in the trash and zipping his pants and fixing his belt and grabbing his shirt and on his way out while Yumi sat on the bed in utter confusion.

 

-

 

      Tora was setting the table when Ryouji walked in.

      “Perfect timing,” he said as Ryouji took off his shoes and headed for the bathroom, “I just finished the—”

      But the rest of his sentence died in his throat as Ryouji passed him and Tora caught the unmistakable smell of a woman. It had happened. Finally, after barely a week, Ryouji had gone to a woman for his needs. And Tora thought he had been expecting it, thought he had been prepared, but some part of him had been holding out hope that maybe, maybe after the amusement park and the balloons and the dinner than Ryouji had cooked, maybe his uncle wouldn’t have needed a woman. Turns out he had been wrong, and he felt his lips tremble and clenched his jaw because he shouldn’t be surprised anymore, he really shouldn’t. It just hurt so much.

      But there was no use crying over it. What was done was done, and in a few days when Tora was finally able to sit normally without shifting his weight to his legs, Ryouji would grab his arm or push him up against the wall and fuck him and that would be that. And Tora felt so empty, so empty he didn’t even feel like crying anymore, because there was nothing left inside to come out.

      “What’s for dinner?”

      He hadn’t heard Ryouji come out of the bathroom. When Tora looked up, his uncle smelled of cologne. No trace of perfume or lotion or hair spray. He couldn’t tell if Ryouji was hoping that Tora hadn’t noticed Yumi’s smell clinging to him after he came home or if Ryouji simply didn’t want him asking any questions, but either way Tora felt exhausted. In the beginning he’d told Ryouji he’d be fine if it was just a pity fuck. But then in turned into two, then three, and there were only so many times it could be called a pity fuck before it became something else. Tora almost wished that Ryouji had told him to just forget about it and pretend it never happened after the first time, instead of asking if Tora had ever masturbated while thinking of him, because at least then it would have only been once, when Ryouji wasn’t quite himself, and Tora could console himself that at least his uncle respected him enough as a person to not just use him as a convenient hole. And in fact Tora really did wish that, he wished desperately that it had ended after that one time, no almost about it.

      “…Hotpot…” came the response after what seemed like an eternity.

      “Sounds good.” And Ryouji was heading for the table and Tora was expected to follow.

      Dinner passed numbly for Tora. He didn’t remember tasting anything he had eaten, didn’t even remember if he had eaten anything at all, and if Ryouji had tried to start any conversations with him, Tora hadn’t heard. All he could think about was that the last time he’d made hotpot, the same thing had happened; Ryouji had come home after doing it with a woman and sat at the table eating dinner like nothing had happened. Finally the food was gone, and Tora knew that he had to do the dishes but he couldn’t find the energy. After a minute, he slowly stood up.

      “I’m going to bed…” his voice sounded flat even to his own ears, and Tora didn’t care. Maybe he was actually broken this time.

      “Wait. I’ll do the dishes with you.”

      Tora stared blankly at his uncle. He couldn’t understand this man, he really, really couldn’t. Was this his way of showing kindness? Was he trying to apologize? To make it up to him? Was he just feeling generous, or did he occasionally feel bad for never helping with the chores?

      “Tora?”

      It might have been a few minutes since Ryouji offered to help with the cleanup. It might have been a few seconds. Tora didn’t know.

      “…Fine.” He was just so tired, all he wanted to do was go to sleep and forget that any of this existed.

      Together they gathered up the dishes and carried them out to the kitchen, and together they started the process of washing and rinsing. Together. _But we’re not together,_ Tora thought hollowly. _We were never together. We never have been, and we never will be._

      He thought that the silence would stay with them, but then suddenly Ryouji spoke. “I met up with Yumi today.”

      Tora didn’t even flinch. “I know.”

      “I couldn’t finish it.”

      Tora heard the words, but didn’t understand the meaning. Couldn’t finished what?

      “It wasn’t enough.”

      What? “What?” _What?_

      “It wasn’t enough,” Ryouji repeated, and he was staring at Tora, staring him straight in the eye, and Tora could see the lust lurking there and it suddenly dawned on him that Ryouji wasn’t satisfied, hadn’t been satisfied at all, and— “So I left.”

      And then it hit Tora, and it felt like it hit him right in the chest, it hit him so hard that his heart started to beat again, and it was so sudden that his heart couldn’t handle it and it broke and Tora distantly heard the dish he dropped clattering in the sink but he didn’t care if it cracked because something in him had cracked first and he had to know, needed to know—

      “You couldn’t do it with a woman?” Tora didn’t care how insensitive that sounded or if it made Ryouji mad, he just needed to hear confirmation. He need to hear Ryouji say it clearly himself.

      “Tch. It’s not like I couldn’t get it up, I’m not impotent. But it wasn’t enough. I wouldn’t have been satisfied even if I had finished, so—”

      And that was all Tora wanted. He knew that his uncle was saying more, but all he needed to know was in that one sentence. _I wouldn’t have been satisfied_. And the sick, twisted part of Tora that had fallen in love with his own uncle burst open in happiness because women were no longer enough for Ryouji, they couldn’t satisfy him, _but Tora could,_ and Ryouji would never go looking for another man because Ryouji wasn’t gay and Tora was enough, _Tora was enough for Ryouji._ Without even realizing what he was doing, Tora grabbed his uncle and kissed him, tears streaming down his face, and it was a desperate, clumsy kiss, but Ryouji responded with such fire and without hesitation that Tora’s heart sang, his very blood thrummed with triumph and love for this man, this man that only _he_ could satisfy, and he loved him so much that it hurt, and Tora didn’t care if Ryouji broke him because Tora would heal and then Ryouji would break him again and again and again and be _satisfied._

 

-

 

      When Tora finally came down enough to register what was going on, he was on his back on the bedroom floor clad in only his boxers and unbearably hard with Ryouji above him, tie askew, jacket missing, belt and pants undone and Tora could _feel_ him in the space between them, his hard, hot length, pulsing to be inside Tora.

      “Ryouji…” he breathed, and he wanted to touch but his hands were pinned above his head but even just looking was satisfying because Ryouji’s face was twisted in a grimace of pure desire for Tora that he was barely suppressing, and that alone was almost enough to send Tora over the edge. His cock twitched and he could feel the pre-cum soaking his boxers and he groaned, hips rising to graze against Ryouji and Ryouji shuddered and cursed—“ _Fuck,_ Tora, fuck,”—and he came and his cum spattered onto Tora’s bare stomach and Tora whined and jerked and then his own cum was smearing the inside of his clothes and dripping over his balls and down the insides of his thighs to his ass and he didn’t care about the bruises, he wanted Ryouji inside him.

      But for some reason Ryouji was still holding back, and he met Tora’s eyes with eyes full of such intense lust that Tora felt himself going hard again and Ryouji hadn’t even gone soft, and Tora felt Ryouji devouring him with his gaze before he kissed Tora, hard and desperate and demanding and Tora willingly gave in, wanted to give him whatever he wanted and more, and then Ryouji broke it off and whispered in a hoarse voice, “I’m not going to hurt you, Tora. Don’t move.”

      Tora didn’t understand what that meant but didn’t care even if Ryouji did hurt him, because Ryouji needed him and he wanted Ryouji more than anything in the world, and then Ryouji was touching himself with the hand that wasn’t holding Tora’s wrists and he was kissing Tora again and Tora was in heaven but it still wasn’t enough, he wanted more, he wanted _Ryouji_ —

      “Fuck, Tora, stop moving, I can’t—”

      But Tora wasn’t listening, he was squirming and writhing and trying to get his legs around Ryouji’s waist but Ryouji was in the way and his legs were trapped and his hands were trapped and he couldn’t touch him but he wanted to _so badly_ —

      “Ryouji, Ryouji, p—please, Ryouji,” Tora begged, skin too hot, and there was a fire trapped inside him that only Ryouji could release, and when Tora started pleading with him Ryouji came again and Tora moaned as the heat of Ryouji’s cum covered his stomach because he still needed more.

      “Shit…” his uncle was panting, hips jerking against Tora’s against his will. “Shit, Tora, you’re driving me crazy, I’m not gonna hurt you…”

      “Ryouji,” whimpered Tora, body bucking up to meet Ryouji’s, wordless noises escaping him at the unbearably fleeting touch and he opened his mouth and Ryouji didn’t waste any time in meeting his plea, covering his lips and tongue fucking him in the way that he wouldn’t fuck Tora, not yet.

      He could tell he was close, though, and when his mouth was free again Tora started babbling, “Ryouji, more, Ryouji—” his hips jerking in uncoordinated rhythm with Ryouji’s and they were both so close but it wasn’t quite enough and Ryouji grunted, grinding down harder on Tora, not holding back his strength, but neither of them could quite reach the end and they both knew that the front wasn’t enough—

      “I’m not gonna hurt you, Tora, I’m not gonna, fuck, I won’t hurt you…” Ryouji was growling under his breath, and then he let go of Tora’s wrists and was lifting himself off Tora and quick as a flash Tora had his legs around Ryouji’s waist and was grinding against him and a noise escaped Ryouji before he grabbed Tora’s hair and yanked him close for a sloppy kiss that led to his neck where Ryouji began marking every inch of skin he could. “ _Fuck,_ oh fuck, _Tora_ , you’re so fucking, I can’t, I can’t—”

      And he was prying Tora’s legs from around him and Tora protested but Ryouji was stronger than him and then he flipped him over and Tora whimpered with anticipation and Ryouji was stripping him of his last piece of clothing, growling desire at the mess inside Tora’s boxers and tearing off his own tie and shirt and buttons flew everywhere but neither of them cared because then Ryouji was touching Tora. Tora’s legs were shaking and his whole body was panting for it, but Ryouji pushed his legs together and slid his cock between Tora’s thighs and then he was thrusting, thrusting hard enough that Tora could imagine what it would feel like if it was inside him and it would hurt so good, but every time Ryouji pulled back and jerked forward his dick would slide against Tora’s and that was an entirely new sensation that left Tora falling apart and the only sound he could make was Ryouji’s name, getting more and more desperate with each passing second. Ryouji was digging his fingers into Tora’s hips and sides and then he jerked back far enough that the head of his cock was against Tora’s ass and Tora flinched violently and felt his hole twitch and he came, and then Ryouji was thrusting forward, but not into Tora, his rock hard member dripping cum and pre-cum slipping beneath Tora’s balls and sliding along the length of his softening erection and Tora cried out and Ryouji jerked back again, pressing at Tora’s entrance again and Tora cried some more and Ryouji thrust forward one more time and released his load all over Tora’s back.

      Breathing harshly, it was a moment before Ryouji could let go of Tora with his bruising force, and when he did Tora slumped to the side, covered in cum from both Ryouji and himself, trembling and heady from pleasure but still able to stammer, “ Ryouji, I love you Ryouji, I love you, I love you, Ryouji, kiss me—”

      And Ryouji did, and it was slower and deeper and more possessive than the others, and Tora’s member twitched and a little more cum leaked out over his leg.

      “ _Tora_ ,” Ryouji said, and it was an animal voice, low and rough and dark.

      “Ryouji,” Tora whispered, and he wrapped his arms around his uncle’s neck and kissed him as well as he knew how because he loved him and would never be able to stop.


	6. iii. Infection

      In the morning Tora was up and making breakfast when Ryouji stumbled out of the bedroom, hair a mess and eyes squinted. Unable to help himself, Tora smiled almost shyly as he glanced at him.

      “Good morning, Ryouji.” He brought the finished food—rice, rolled eggs, natto, miso soup, and some bacon—out to the table along with a cup of coffee. There was a warm glow in his stomach and he felt happier than he had ever been, but at the same time there was a little twist of guilt that Tora did his best to ignore as he took a seat. Now that he was thinking straight, he was thankful that Ryouji had had enough self-control to not go along with Tora’s desires for their usual sex. His back end was feeling almost entirely better, and if they’d done it seriously last night (not that they hadn’t been serious; personally, Tora considered it their best sex yet) he wouldn’t be in such good shape.

      Ryouji grunted a “Morning,” and took a gulp of his coffee before digging in. Tora smiled again, a small smile to himself, and waited patiently for his uncle to wake up completely.

 

-

 

      After making out on the floor for a bit, Ryouji had gone to get up, and Tora had been reluctant to remove his arms from around his neck, humming in disappointment.

      “Hey, I’m not sleeping here,” warned Ryouji, grabbing Tora’s wrists. When Tora winced, though, he immediately let go. “Damn. Forgot.”

      Not capable of feeling upset at the moment, Tora sighed contentedly and reached a hand out, eyes closed, wanting to keep whatever contact he could with his uncle. The back of his knuckles touched Ryouji’s knee and Tora smiled faintly. They stayed like that for a moment, until Ryouji decided that Tora was too close to falling asleep and started moving again.

      “Come on, get up.”

      Tora groaned, like a normal sleepy teenager instead of one in the middle of sex.

      “I’m tellin’ you to get up.” Ryouji was getting annoyed and Tora thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world. Then a foot was nudging him. “Don’t fall asleep like that, it’s gross.”

      In response, the high schooler lifted his arms in the direction of his uncle’s voice. And Ryouji was definitely annoyed—“Jesus, what are you, a toddler? I’m not picking your ass up”—but Tora was so far above cloud nine that even hearing his uncle’s grumbling get quieter as he left the room filled him with a gentle buzz of happiness. The sound of running water reached his ears and not even a minute later Ryouji was back.

      “Shit, don’t actually fall asleep, at least wipe yourself off. I’ll help you up but I’m not carrying you, got that?”

      And Tora just smiled and raised his arms again and Ryouji grabbed under them, lifting him to his feet. Sliding his arms around Ryouji’s neck, his uncle began sharply, “Hey,” but Tora interrupted him with an explanatory, “Mmm,” and stayed on his feet, simply leaning against his uncle.

      A sigh ruffled the top of his hair. “I hate brats, you know?”

      “Hmm…” was the response.

      Ryouji started walking them towards the bathroom with an arm around Tora’s waist, and his nephew enjoyed the feeling of Ryouji’s body, his muscles flexing and shifting under his warm skin, and Tora’s heart thumped with happiness and love for the man in his grasp. _I should tell him some more,_ he thought contentedly. _Even if it annoys him, I should tell him._

      “Tell me what? You talking in your sleep or something?”

      “Oh,” mumbled Tora, but figured if he’d already said that much out loud then he might as well say the rest. “Love you. I love you, Ryouji…”

      And then there was tile under their feet, and he didn’t want to have to sit on the shower seat or on the floor, but Ryouji was telling him to lift his foot and Tora was stepping into the tub and being lowered until he was sitting in the warm water.

      “I’m not cleaning you up,” Ryouji informed him, pushing a washcloth into his hand.

      Tora listened as Ryouji began showering the sweat from his body. Placing his unbruised arm on the side of the tub, Tora rested his head there before lazily dragging the cloth under water and over his stomach. He would have to wash the tub tomorrow, but he was glad to not have to sit on the stool. A sudden thought occurred to him.

      “Ryouji…” he said, opening his eyes slightly to peer at his uncle. “I can’t wash my back.”

      “You askin’ me to wash it for you?” asked the older man, glaring around. Tora just looked at him, and after a moment Ryouji shook his head slightly, getting to his feet. “Stop looking like that or I’ll rape you. And turn around.”

      Not sure what look Ryouji wanted him to stop, Tora just maneuvered himself so that his back was facing his uncle and closed his eyes again, relaxing into the feeling of strong hands on his back. Ryouji wasn’t especially gentle about it, but a gentle Ryouji wouldn’t have been Ryouji. It felt so good just being touched, and Tora wondered if casual touches would start to become a habit, instead of really only touching when they were doing it. It would be nice if, in the morning when Tora left for school, Ryouji would give him a goodbye kiss, and when Ryouji came home from work Tora could give him a welcome home kiss, and maybe every night they could do the dishes side-by-side without having a contest about it.

      “Done,” came the voice from behind him, and Tora opened his eyes, disappointed that it was over so soon.

      Feeling more awake, he turned back around as Ryouji returned to the shower stool to finish washing himself. Not wanting to get out just yet, Tora settled his chin on his arm again and watched his uncle. He wondered how often Ryouji worked out; it wasn’t possible for someone who drank as much as Ryouji to be cut like that, and then he wondered if he’d ever been in any fights. Tora would bet his whole allowance that Ryouji had been that guy in school who got into fights over everything and was labelled a delinquent. People would probably think he was glaring at them (which, admittedly, Ryouji did a lot of) and say the wrong thing.

      “What are you staring at?”

      The accusatory tone in those words made Tora look away, a light flush spreading across his shoulders. “You stare at me all the time.”

      Ryouji snorted. “Your point?”

      “Royalties.” Tora couldn’t believe he’d actually said it; his heart skipped a few beats in anticipation, but no response came. After another few beats Tora wondered if he shouldn’t have said that, glancing as covertly as possible at his uncle only to find that Ryouji was staring at him with an expression like he wanted to scowl, but couldn’t quite cover up his amusement. This new side of Ryouji did funny things to Tora’s stomach and he blushed harder than he would have liked and automatically dropped his gaze.

      “You’re pretty cheeky for a brat.” But Ryouji still sounded amused, and he stood up, grabbing a towel to dry himself off. “Get out of there before you overheat. If you pass out I’m letting you drown.”

      Awake enough to stand by himself, Tora climbed out of the tub, taking the towel that Ryouji handed him.

      After getting dressed they didn’t say much to each other, but Tora didn’t feel any oppressiveness in the silence. And when they left the bathroom, Ryouji’s arm brushed against Tora’s, and Tora wanted to wrap his arms around him and put his ear to Ryouji’s chest and listen to his heartbeat, but instead he only allowed himself to lean into the warmth for a few seconds before moving around his uncle towards the storage room. For a moment it seemed like Ryouji was going to say something, but it was only a brief moment, and then they were going to their respective rooms and it occurred to Tora that maybe the day when they could share the same bed wasn’t an impossible thing. The thought filled him with a sense of elation tinged by terror, but however strange it would be for him, he knew it would be even stranger for Ryouji, and Tora was willing to wait because he would do anything for Ryouji.

      That night Tora had fallen asleep with a feeling of warmth in the center of his being.

 

-

 

      “I might get back late tonight,” Ryouji spoke up, going to refill his mug. “Don’t bother with dinner.”

      “I’ll put something in the fridge,” said Tora.

      His uncle glanced over his shoulder. “…Thanks, then.”

      Returning to the table with his coffee, Ryouji sat and helped himself to seconds. Watching Tora discreetly as he pretended to be absorbed in his food—which was fucking great as always, how the hell was a guy so good at cooking?—he noticed the slight glow his nephew seemed to be exuding. He tried to ignore it and not care, but a tugging emotion let him know that wasn’t true. Ryouji didn’t know what the truth was, just that him not caring wasn’t it—he didn’t even know how he was feeling half the time anymore, which was seriously irritating. And it was all because this kid had showed up and made things complicated.

      Tora met Ryouji’s eye and couldn’t help a slight blush, automatically looking away like _he_ had been the one caught staring. Collecting his dishes, Ryouji stood.

      “Shouldn’t you be going to school soon?” he reminded his nephew, going to put his dishes in the sink.

      “Ah, right!” Tora quickly gathered his own dishes, also heading for the sink. As they passed each other, Ryouji ruffled his hair briefly.

      “I’m off.”

      Surprised, Tora looked around after him; a smile fought its way onto his face even as he tried to contain his happiness, and he hurried to call before Ryouji was out the door, “H-have a good day!”

      Ryouji just grunted and shut the door, pausing for a moment to light a cigarette before going to the car. He could still feel the ghost of Tora’s hair beneath his palm. It wasn’t as though it had been a thoughtless action; he’d done it on purpose. What annoyed him was that he didn’t know why he’d done it, and the fact that he wasn’t more annoyed with Tora’s simpleton joy. It was so easy for him to read Tora, who projected his emotions like a flashlight, so he knew a good deal of the time at least the emotional range his nephew was experiencing. Yet Ryouji still acted oblivious to Tora’s feelings, and while that might have worked at first, he was starting to get a vague sense that he was being drawn into dangerous territory, and that feigned ignorance wouldn’t be effective much longer. He wasn’t sure what else to do, though, and some options he simply wouldn’t acknowledge—but he was still moving forward.

 _What am I doing?_ Wondered Ryouji as he drove away, glancing in the mirror at the receding apartment complex. In the glass, he saw the small figure of Tora exiting the apartment and disappearing down the stairs. _Just what the hell is happening to me?_

 

-

 

      “So did something good happen with your sex friend?”

      “Huh?” Tora stopped as he was opening his lunch. How did Shibuya always seem to know exactly how Tora was feeling without Tora having to say anything at all?

      “I’ll bet you had make-up sex or something, right?”

      “W…why would you think that?” Tora asked even as he flushed in embarrassment, remembering said make-up sex.

      “Well besides the evidence all over your neck, you’re also just kind of…glowing.”

      Automatically Tora lifted a hand to his throat, the blush spreading. “…Yeah, actually,” he finally admitted, “We kind of did. Probably…”

      “Ohh! Seriously? Well congratulations.” His friend patted his shoulder before tearing open his melon bread. “So are you a happy couple now?”

      “…We might be getting there.” Even the tips of Tora’s ears were turning red. “Sort of.”

      “No no, don’t be so hesitant about it. You have to be more aggressive! Women respect dominant men, so you’ve got to prove that you’re a man, not just a high schooler.” Shibuya probably didn’t know what he was talking about as much as he acted like he did, and Tora knew that, but he laughed and appreciated his friend’s whole-hearted support.

 _Maybe I’ll tell him the truth,_ Tora thought. _Shibuya’s a good friend, and I shouldn’t keep lying to him._

 

-

 

      Hirose plopped into the passenger seat of the car, sorting out the food he’d bought and passing an onigiri and coffee to his partner.

      “What’s this?” Ryouji looked at the wrapped rice ball in his hand.

      “Sekihan onigiri.” Hirose smiled winsomely at his senpai.

      Ryouji glared in confusion. “What? Why?”

      “To celebrate, to celebrate~!” Opening his own onigiri, Hirose began eating cheerfully.

      “…You’re not normal, Mimi.”

      “But it makes sense, Senpai! You finally made up with Tora-chan, right? So that’s why we’re celebrating!” He continued to eat, blissfully ignorant of the way Ryouji almost crushed the food in his hand.

      “What the hell makes you think we made up? What the hell makes you think there was anything to make up for?” The older man’s tone was dangerous, but his kouhai didn’t seem to notice.

      “Well just the other day you were so angry, even for you, Senpai. But today you’re hardly scowling at all! Oh, but now you’re really scowling a lot…”

      “ _Nobody’s gonna find your body._ ”

      “E-eh?! No, wait, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Senpai—!”

 

-

 

      It was a bit early for dinner, but since he didn’t have to wait for his uncle, Tora decided he might as well. He’d already done what cleaning there was to do and finished his homework. While preparing the rice, Tora recalled how close he’d come to telling Shibuya about his relationship with Ryouji. He knew how unconventional it was; in the beginning, before he’d fallen completely in love with him, Tora had been ashamed and disgusted with himself for thinking of his own uncle in that way, for hearing Ryouji’s voice whenever he jerked off. But that had gradually lost priority, especially after the events following the Kuroko-Hyodo incident. Strangely enough, Ryouji seemed to have not even considered the incestual problem, instead focusing on the fact that they were both guys, and Hirose hadn’t even found _that_ weird, despite having come dangerously close to witnessing Ryouji violating his own nephew.

 _Shibuya’s been my friend since middle school,_ Tora reasoned to himself as he cooked. _He’s always been pretty relaxed, and it’s not like I’ll be confessing to him or anything—I’m not even gay._ The high schooler began chopping vegetables a little harder than necessary, feeling the heat creeping into his cheeks. Anyone would assume he was gay after finding out that he was letting himself get used like a woman, much less the fact that he was in love with a man. Even Ryouji thought that. But he _wasn’t_ gay. Ryouji was the only one Tora would willing let do such things.

      “Alright,” Tora said aloud. “Tomorrow I’ll tell Shibuya everything.”

      Resolved, he continued the dinner preparations and was soon seated at the table. Because it was so early Tora didn’t eat as much as he normally would have and finished quickly, making up a plate for his uncle and putting it in the fridge along with the rest of the leftovers before doing the dishes. In the silence of the empty apartment, that damn song surfaced in the back of Tora’s mind and began playing on loop, so after he was done he went and turned on the TV, slouching comfortable on the couch. Tora didn’t watch much TV in general, but he found a comedy channel and settled in to wait until he was tired enough to go to bed.

 

-

 

      When Ryouji got home, the first thing he saw was Tora asleep on the couch. He had slumped over, mouth open slightly, and the TV was on, casting a flickering glow over his pale skin.

      “Tch. I told him I was getting back late...” Ryouji grumbled, slipping his shoes off and stepping into the apartment. Approaching the couch he stared down at his nephew’s sleeping face. “…Wake up.” But he didn’t say it very loudly, and Tora didn’t stir, and the light from the television was playing random patterns over his cheeks and eyelids in an almost hypnotic way.

      Bracing his hands against the arm and back of the couch, Ryouji leaned in and pressed his mouth to Tora’s; not in a careless, demanding way that was sure to wake him up—a prelude to late-night sex—but with the sort mindfulness used when touching a skittish animal. The same kind of kiss Ryouji had awoken to so many weeks ago. When he drew back, the high schooler continued to slumber on.

      “You little shit,” whispered Ryouji, and he was leaning in again, close enough that he could feel Tora’s soft breath, but then his nephew’s brow twitched and furrowed slightly and Ryouji pulled away.

      Eyes blinking open slowly, Tora looked at his uncle for a moment before it registered that he was, indeed, looking at his uncle—who had him somewhat trapped on the couch with their faces less than a foot from each other. Automatically the teenager pushed himself back into the cushions a little, gaze dropping to Ryouji’s lips before flitting away.

      “O-oh…welcome home, Ryouji.” Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Tora also tried to hide the blush slowly creeping across his cheeks.

      Ryouji snorted. “Right.” Dropping his hands, he straightened up. “What part of ‘working late” didn’t you get?”

      Tora flushed. “I—I wasn’t waiting up for you or anything! I just—hey!” he said indignantly as his uncle flicked his forehead and moved on into the kitchen.

      “You’ll catch a cold if you keep sleeping without a blanket. Go to bed.”

      Rubbing his head, Tora almost pouted. “I’m taking a bath, first.”

      “Fine.” There was a sound of the fridge opening and closing.

      “And do your dishes,” added Tora as he got up.

      “Why?”

      “Because I don’t want to have to do them in the morning.”

      “Yeah, yeah. Who was it that said he’d do all the chores?”

      Tora stuck his head in the kitchen, mouth open to retort, but suddenly a cold yaki mandu was being pushed into his mouth, muffling his words before he could speak. Chewing furiously, Tora scowled at his uncle, receiving a smirk in response.

      “I already brushed my teeth,” he grouched.

      “So brush ‘em again.” Ryouji began heating up the plate of food Tora had made for him, along with the leftovers.

      “Jerk,” mumbled the high schooler, but his heart wasn’t in it.

      “You gonna bitch about it or do something about it?”

      “As if anyone could change your shitty personality,” Tora shot back, and Ryouji snickered.

      “Damn right.” His back was to his nephew, but Tora continued to lean in the doorway, just watching him. The solitary light of the kitchen, the aroma of food, Ryouji in his work clothes but come home, not leaving, the familiar banter…Tora would have happily stayed in the moment for the rest of his life. It wasn’t possible, though, and so after another minute he pushed away, half-turning in the direction of the bathroom.

      “Goodnight, Ryouji.”

      “Night, Tora,” came the quiet response.

      In the bathtub, steam rising from the water and clinging perspiration to his skin, Tora listened to the soft sounds of Ryouji eating and closed his eyes, searing the memory into his mind.


	7. i. Holding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to wait and post this on the 14th, but then it got a lot of views and that made me happy, so.
> 
> Happy early Valentine's Day.

      The week came to its end and Tora had yet to find the right time to tell Shibuya the entire truth. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him; he was just scared. Tora was scared to change Shibuya’s idea of him, to become someone else in his friend’s mind—not the Tora he had known since they were kids but a different Tora, one who fell in love with his own uncle…speaking of whom, it was four days after their stint on the bedroom floor and Ryouji hadn’t touched Tora. That is, he hadn’t touched with any intent to touch further. There had been plenty of hair-ruffles in passing, foot-kicking at the table, and once or twice they’d even done the dishes side-by-side. Tora was reveling in it all and wouldn’t change a thing, but he was also very conscious of the way Ryouji’s fingers would sometimes linger at the nape of his neck and how his gaze would follow him from across the room. Ryouji never made a move, though. He was waiting, and somehow Tora could feel that he would keep waiting. More than once Tora had woken up, sweating lightly with a tenseness in his stomach and the ghost of hands on his body, and Ryouji’s words lingering in his mind: _“I’m not going to hurt you, Tora.”_

      Which left it up to Tora to initiate. Having just finished his bath, Tora could hear the clinking of Ryouji washing the dishes; his uncle had shooed him away from the sink, informing him that he could do the cleanup himself since he wasn’t done eating yet. It had been a busy week for Ryouji and Tora wondered if maybe he was just looking forward to being able to sleep, but on the other hand it had been a busy week for Ryouji, and if sex trumped food which trumped sleep…Tora blushed, rubbing the excess water from his hair with a towel. Ryouji had always been the one to start everything. Tora had never been in this situation before, not even when he was dating his first girlfriend. Sure, they’d come close to doing it, but she’d mostly been the one guiding him, and when he hadn’t been dominant enough for her tastes she’d called him boring and left. Girls had it way easier when it came to seduction, Tora decided, slipping his boxers and pajama pants on. Especially when he considered how he was about to attempt to seduce his heterosexual uncle.

      Heart pounding, Tora exited the bathroom without his shirt (he would have left it off anyway; the nights were starting to get hotter, and ironically the air conditioner wasn’t in its best condition) but kept the towel around his neck. Before he got to the kitchen, though, his uncle emerged, grunting when he saw Tora.

      “That was fast.” As he moved past his nephew, Tora suddenly spoke up, surprising the both of them.

      “W-wait...”

      Ryouji paused, an eyebrow raised. Tora could feel a flush burning all the way down and across his shoulders and he couldn’t meet his uncle’s eye, but he gulped and slowly reached out a hand, trembling imperceptibly, until just his fingers were resting on Ryouji’s wrist; not grabbing, not demanding, just a simple suggestion of an invitation. “…Um.”

      Tora was sure that even the neighbors could hear his heartbeat by now, but Ryouji was motionless. With almost painful hesitation, Tora lifted his head enough to tentatively look at his uncle’s face. Ryouji’s expression was unreadable, but the way he was staring at Tora held a different feeling from any other time. Emboldened, Tora raised himself up with hardly a second thought to press a simple kiss against Ryouji’s lips, who shifted a step closer and tilted his head for a better angle and somehow Tora’s wrist was in his grip, held loosely. When he pulled back slightly, face painted red with embarrassment, Ryouji was looking at him through half-lidded, craved eyes.

      “…You’re pretty sly,” murmured the older man, his free hand creeping up Tora’s arm.

      Tora averted his gaze automatically, but before he could look away completely Ryouji caught his mouth again, drawing him back in, and Tora followed, more than ready to be swept up in his uncle pace.

 

 -

     

      As the kissing become gradually more heated, Ryouji steered them clumsily toward the bedroom, bumping into the wall just by the doorframe and taking a moment to divest himself of his shirt while Tora slipped his arms around his neck. Somewhere along the way the towel had been lost, but neither of them noticed. Eventually they reached the bed where Ryouji pushed Tora down and Tora pulled Ryouji with him, and Ryouji was still kissing him and Tora was drowning in the best way possible. The muscles of Tora’s stomach jumped under Ryouji’s fingertips as they found the waistband of his nephew’s pants and tugged them down, mouth moving to Tora’s neck and shoulders and leaving small, stinging marks.

      “Ah…R-Ryouji…” Tora gasped as calloused palms slid over his hips, his sides, up his chest to his neck and around the back of his head, and then their lips met like lava, slow and molten beneath the surface, and Tora could feel himself melting, pressing up to fit against the curve of Ryouji’s body.

      Remaining as close to Tora as possible, Ryouji stretched an arm out to rummage through the bedside table’s draw, finding lube and a condom rather quickly. Once more he kissed Tora, deeply enough that Tora felt like he might never breathe again because all he needed was Ryouji, and then his uncle was stripping him of his boxers and a drip of coldness at his rear shocked him before strong, familiar fingers were sliding inside him, slippery with lube, and Tora’s back arched. The soft sounds that escaped him were swallowed by Ryouji, who ground against Tora’s thigh with the same rhythm as his fingers, and it didn’t take him long to find Tora’s prostate. Tora clutched at Ryouji as he came, shaking, and Ryouji withdrew his fingers, eliciting a small noise before pumping the last few spurts from Tora, who twitched and shuddered at the touch.

      While Tora recovered, his uncle shed his remaining clothes and opened the condom, rolling it onto his erect member. Returning to his position over Tora, Ryouji distracted him with kisses as he nudged his nephew’s legs a little further apart, and then Tora gasped as Ryouji pushed into him, filling him up until he was trembling and on the brink of coming undone. Slowly, Ryouji began to moving, not thrusting roughly but hitting deeply each time. Tora panted, one hand gripping the pillow and the other holding onto his uncle’s shoulder as his legs went around Ryouji’s waist.

      “You’re bein’ pretty quiet,” Ryouji commented, low and lustful. His hips jerked forward and found a sweet spot and Tora whined in response, body twisting. “Fuck—there we go…”

      Very purposefully, Ryouji continued to thrust short and angled, and Tora’s voice filled the air, enticing Ryouji like a siren’s song. “Nn! Ah, un, Ryou—Ryouji—” Tora gasped, breath coming quicker and quicker.

      “Tora,” Ryouji growled, pressing him back into the bed as he kissed him, hard, movements becoming more desperate as they both sought release. Suddenly Tora moaned and shuddered, legs tightening around his uncle’s waist and his insides simultaneously clenching around Ryouji’s cock as he climaxed, which also finished Ryouji off, the man pressing his teeth to Tora’s collarbone with a low sound.

      Both panting, Ryouji kissed up Tora’s throat to his mouth, stealing what little breath he had left before biting his ear. “One more time.”

      Tora turned his head and kissed Ryouji with all the passion he could muster; he was getting better at it, and he could feel Ryouji’s still-half-hard dick respond inside him, which had Tora nearly cumming again as he broke the kiss with a small sound.

      Almost pulling out, Ryouji began thrusting with deep, measured strokes, and it wasn’t long before Tora was urging him on with breathy pleas. “M…more…Ryouji, more…Ryouji—Ryouji…!”

      Still inside, Ryouji suddenly stopped. “Hold onto me,” he instructed, grabbing Tora’s wrists and pulling his arms around his neck.

      “Wha…what…?” panted Tora, thoughts disconnected by the pleasure pulsing through his body.

      Then Ryouji shifted his weight and sat back on his heels, bringing Tora with him, and the new position pushed Ryouji even deeper than before and Tora cried out and clung to him, trembling, breathing short and uneven. Ryouji was tense, fingers pressing into Tora’s sides as he held back until Tora got used to the new position. “Shit, oh, fuck, Tora…”

      “Ryouji,” Tora whimpered, lips against his uncle’s shoulder. “R-Ryouji—ah…”

      Slowly, Ryouji began to move, and Tora’s fingers were digging into Ryouji’s back and Ryouji growled, hips jerking, and Tora was making senseless noises as Ryouji thrust into him and he grabbed Tora’s chin and their teeth clicked together as their mouths met and then they were in the same rhythm and Ryouji’s tongue took over Tora’s mouth and Tora was falling apart. A few more thrusts and Tora was cumming hard, coating both their stomachs, and Ryouji’s abdomen twitched and he pushed him down and rocked into his nephew and came.

      Silence except for Tora’s gasps and Ryouji’s panting as they rode the waves of their orgasms, and Tora knew that his uncle wasn’t satisfied yet. When Tora’s shaking had quelled Ryouji pulled out, semen overflowing from the condom.

      “Again,” he demanded, voice gravelly as he stripped the condom off and moved to get a new one, but Tora grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

      “It’s okay…” Tora breathed, leaning his cheek into Ryouji’s hand with closed eyes before kissing his palm. “It’s okay. I’m okay…” His eyes, slightly dazed and cloudy with lust, opened to meet Ryouji’s, which flashed dark and full of desire.

      “Fuck.” Ryouji all but lunged at Tora, kissing and biting at his neck and shoulders as his fingers pushed between Tora’s lips. “You—how are you so god damn—” and then his fingers were gone as he gripped Tora’s thighs, a bit of drool escaping from Tora’s open mouth, and Ryouji was kissing him and Tora rose up to meet him with the same urgency and they were both hard again even as the mess on their stomachs cooled despite their burning bodies.

      “Love you, I love you Ryouji,” was Tora’s only response, because at that moment all that existed was Ryouji.

 

 -

 

      Tora woke up. His internal clock told him it wasn’t morning yet, but something was off. Rolling over, Tora realized he was still in Ryouji’s bed. He could feel dried sweat on his skin, and the bedding was rumpled, but there was no Ryouji. Either he was sleeping on the couch (a twinge of guilty sadness pinged through Tora’s mind at that thought), or Tora hadn’t been asleep all that long. Searching mainly with his hands, Tora located his boxers and slipped them on, getting up and padding quietly into the living room. There was no sign of Ryouji, but then Tora noticed that the door to the balcony was open. Ryouji was outside, also clad only in boxers, forearms resting on the wall as he smoked.

      “Ryouji?”

      His uncle looked around and Tora suddenly felt like crying. Lit from below by the gentle glow of streetlights and the flare of the cigarette in his hand, Ryouji looked less-than-real, and Tora wondered if maybe he was dreaming. Maybe everything, all of it, every kiss and touch had been a dream, because how could it be possible that the heterosexual man he had been sent to live with would go along with Tora’s sinful desires? And maybe one day Tora was going to wake up and Ryouji would just be his uncle again, nothing more, and there would be no end to it because it had never been real in the first place.

      “What’s that look for?”

      “Ah…it’s nothing,” Tora answered his uncle’s question, stepping outside to join him. The night air was warm, and Tora realized that the next week of school would be his last before summer break. “I just thought maybe I was still sleeping.”

      “Huh.” Ryouji looked out over the city. “Well unless we’re sharing the same dream, you’re awake.”

      Tora laughed softly, looking down at the street below. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

      He heard a grunt. “Don’t be sorry. If you’re tired, you’re tired.”

      “I didn’t want to take over your bed, though.”

      “Yeah right,” snorted Ryouji. “If I wanted it back I’d just kick you to the floor.”

      “You’d do that to a sleeping person? So rude…”

      “Shut up, brat. Like you can talk.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “Freeloader.”

      “Wha—now you’re just talking nonsense! I do more for your place than you do!”

      “Says the kid without a job.”

      “Do you want me to get a job?”

      “Don’t you have an allowance?”

      “Well do you want me to get one or not? I don’t get what you’re saying at all.”

      “A job wouldn’t be a bad idea. But I guess you could afford to be a kid a little longer.”

      “Now I really don’t get what you’re saying.”

      “Nothing, nothing.”

      Tora shook his head, giving up on guessing what his uncle was thinking, and Ryouji reached over to ruffle his hair. It was a pretty peaceful night, and Tora could almost see the stars out of the corner of his eye despite all of the city lights. Ryouji continued to smoke, the familiar scent surrounding the two of them and relaxing Tora, although he knew it was bad for both their lungs—but it was the smell of Ryouji, and no matter what he couldn’t hate it. If only he could have Ryouji for himself; if only they weren’t related; if only…Tora stopped himself before he could think any further. Thoughts like that wouldn’t do anything. All he could do was be happy with what he could get. He already had so much more than he had ever expected, it was too selfish to wish for more.

      But wish he did, because if the only thing he had or ever could have was Ryouji, he’d be the happiest person on earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue is my vice.


	8. ii.Building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 69 hits, I can't not update. Two chapters for 69 on Valentine's day, yaaay.

      The weekend had passed almost blissfully—no, it had passed blissfully, aside from the fact that it had passed. Walking to school, Tora felt a new train of thought weighing him down. When he had first come to live with his uncle, he thought that a year was way too long to stay. Now that things had…changed, he felt as though the time was running out far too quickly. Logically he knew there was still plenty of time left, but his heart never listened to logic, and what he really wanted to do was spend all the time he could with Ryouji. After graduation, maybe he could go to a local university…and maybe if he asked, he could keep living with Ryouji. It would be cheaper than getting his own place, after all, and when he got a job he could help with the rent, like his mom was.

      Thinking of his mother, Tora’s steps slowed until he’d stopped walking altogether. A feeling of dread crept up from the corners of his heart where he had pushed all the guilt aside. _I am sleeping with my mother’s brother on a regular basis. Because I’m in love with him_. Of course, Tora already knew this, but when he added his mom to the thought, it became horribly real. Logically there was no difference between the two, but “Ryouji” was practically a stranger; his “mother’s brother”, however, was too close. He was undeniably family. How would he explain it to her? How _could_ he? Tora’s head swam as he tried desperately to stop thinking about it, to go back to before he’d realized it in those terms, but he couldn’t.

      “Teshima?”

      The voice dragged Tora back to reality, and he looked around, slightly off-balance. “Huh?”

      A classmate was standing a short distance away from him, looking concerned, and Tora recognized him as Ishida. For a moment he experienced a strong flash of memory, karaoke with Kuroko and going to what he thought was Kuroko’s house…

      “Are you okay?”

      “Uh…oh, y-yeah. Sorry.” Tora grinned faintly, grateful for the distraction. “Thanks, I was spacing out.”

      Ishida offered a slight smile in response and began walking again after a second. Tora fell into step with him; he hadn’t talked to Ishida much, but he’d seemed like a pretty cool guy when they had hung out.

      Opening his mouth as though to say something else, Ishida hesitated. “Are…I mean, how’ve you been?”

      A little surprised, Tora looked at his classmate. “Fine. Why do you ask?”

      “No, just…” There was another pause before Ishida forged on nervously. “I’m…I’m sorry about…what happened with Kuroko.”

      Seeing his expression, it dawned on Tora that Ishida felt bad about being there right before the Hyodo incident. Before he could say anything, though, Ishida rushed to add, “It’s not like Kuroko and I were that close! I didn’t even know he was into drugs or anything, we’d just hung out a couple times, and if I’d known I swear I wouldn’t have let him…”

      “It’s okay,” Tora said, wondering how long Ishida had been worrying about him. “I don’t blame you or anything, I’m pretty much over it. I mean, it was freaky, but nothing really happened.”

      “Oh.” Ishida seemed relieved at that, visibly relaxing. “Okay. Sorry.”

      “Don’t worry about it. What about you? You didn’t get in any trouble, did you?”

      “Well I got talked to by a cop, and for a while my parents thought I was dealing, too, but eventually they believed me.” Running a hand through his hair, Ishida grinned ruefully. “It was seriously scary, I thought they were going to lock me up or something.”

      Tora knew all about terrifying parents and gave him a sympathetic smile. “Who, the cops or your parents?”

      At that, his classmate laughed. “Both—although the cops probably would’ve had to get in line!”

      The two high schoolers laughed together as they arrived at the gates, all previous worries forgotten in the moment.

 

-

 

      When lunch break arrived and Shibuya was busy meeting with the guidance counselor about his plans for the future, Tora felt a sense of guilty relief. When he remembered his thoughts from that morning he felt almost queasy with nerves, his resolve to tell his friend the truth wavering, and since Shibuya could always tell when there was something wrong, it inevitably would have led to a situation in which Tora couldn’t continue to deceive him. _What should I do?_ The question plagued the teenager’s mind as he sat and stared at his lunch, too preoccupied to go about eating as normal. Nothing was normal anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time, but now Tora just couldn’t ignore like he had been.

      “Teshima!” Ishida appeared beside him, hand raised slightly in greeting. His gaze lighted on Tora’s unopened lunch. “Oh, you brought food.”

      Tora blinked and glanced up at his classmate. “Yeah?”

      “Nothing, I just thought maybe I’d treat you to lunch.”

      “You’d do that? That’s pretty nice of you, Ishida. Thanks.” Tora smiled and Ishida rubbed the bridge of his nose, slightly embarrassed.

      “Well, it failed, so…but, uh, where’s Koike? Aren’t you usually with him?”

      “Oh, Shibuya’s meeting with Nakahara-sensei.”

      “Then do you want to come eat in the cafeteria? I could buy you something to drink, at least.”

      “Sure.” Standing up, Tora gathered his bento box and joined Ishida in the hallway. “You don’t have to buy me anything, though.”

      “It’s fine, it’s fine, I want to.”

      “Then I guess I’ll have a strawberry milk.”

      “You like sweet things, Teshima?”

      “Not really, but I’ve like strawberry milk since I was a kid. It’s kind of weird. What about you?”

      “I…yeah, I guess I do,” Ishida answered honestly, blushing faintly.

      “Really?” Tora couldn’t help being a bit surprised; Ishida had never struck him as someone who would like sweets.

      “My older sister’s super into baking and stuff, and she always has me eat whatever she makes. I’m just used to it now,” his classmate explained as they arrive at the lunch room.

      “Oh, that makes sense.” Tora waited as Ishida bought a melon bread, coffee milk, and strawberry milk, then headed for an empty table.

      “Do you have any siblings, Teshima?” asked Ishida, sitting down across from him and passing him the strawberry milk.

      “Nah,” Tora replied, opening his lunch. “I think my mom was surprised to even have me. She travels a lot for work, so she probably figured that she wouldn’t have time to take care of kids.”

      “That sounds kind of rough.”

      “It’s not so bad, although I’ve ended up helping around the house a lot since I was little.” Tora made a face and Ishida laughed. “But now I’m pretty self-sufficient because of it.”

      “At least that’ll be useful when you’re living alone. So did you make that yourself?” Ishida nodded at the bento.

      “Yeah.”

      “Seriously? That looks awesome.”

      “Do you want some? I made a little too much.”

      “Are you sure? I don’t want to take your food.”

      Tora motioned for Ishida to go ahead. “It’s fine, I’m not very hungry anyway.”

      “If you say so…” Helping himself to some pickled vegetables, Ishida laughed. “I said I’d treat you to lunch, but here I am eating your lunch.”

      Laughing with him, Tora stuck his straw in his milk. “Just think of it as payback for the drink.”

 

-

 

      After school was over, Tora stopped by the market to pick up dinner ingredients. He’d somehow managed to avoid a situation  in which there was no choice but to confess to Shibuya about Ryouji, but Tora knew he couldn’t go on with the deception much longer. While his thoughts from that morning had all but discouraged him completely from going through with his plan, it was only a matter of time until his friend noticed that there was something wrong. _Maybe I should tell him over the weekend,_ Tora pondered. _Then I wouldn’t have to worry about anybody overhearing at school._

      “Tora-chan?”

      Surprised, Tora looked up to see his uncle’s partner carrying a basket full of canned coffee and instant noodles. “Hirose-san? What are you doing here?”

      “I got off work early,” came the pleased response. “I’m glad I got to run into you~ How’ve things been? Has Senpai been treating you nicer?”

      “Wha—H-Hirose-san, not so loud…” Tora blushed as he glanced around, hoping feverishly that nobody had noticed.

      “Oh, sorry! My bad.” Hirose rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “But Senpai gets mad whenever I talk about you, and he won’t answer my questions at all!”

      “Um…well, I’ve been fine, and Ryouji’s being pretty nice, too.”

      “Good, good~! You’re graduating soon, right? Do you have any plans for what you’re going to do?”

      “Sort of.” Hesitating for a moment, Tora decided he could trust Hirose. “I was thinking…maybe I could keep living with Ryouji, i-if it was okay with him.”

      “Oh! That’s not a bad idea. Tora-chan’s mom is gone for a year, right? Senpai was complaining about it before you guys—”

      “H-Hirose-san…!”

      “—uh, started, uh, getting along better,” Hirose stuttered off. Tora’s face was burning with embarrassment, and the detective grinned apologetically. “I’m really sorry, Tora-chan, I’ll be more careful…Senpai’s always telling me that my brain is strange, too.”

      “I…I don’t think your brain is strange or anything,” mumbled Tora.

      “Eh, really? Well thanks! You’re so nice, Tora-chan~”

      At that, Tora laughed slightly. Considering everything that had been happening, he didn’t think he was particularly nice—just selfish, and too self-centered…he couldn’t even confide is his best friend. A sudden thought occurred to Tora. “Say…Hirose-san? Would you be able to come over for a little bit? There’s…something I want to ask you.”

      “Huh?” Hirose blinked. “Come over to your place?”

      Tora nodded. “If you’re not busy or anything…I understand if you don’t want to bother.”

      “Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” Ryouji’s colleague smiled broadly. “Does this mean I get to have some of Tora-chan’s cooking again?”

      “Heh, sure,” replied Tora, automatically returning the smile.

      “Yay~!”

 

-

 

      When they arrived at the apartment, Tora went to the kitchen to put away the groceries before preparing some tea and snacks while Hirose made himself comfortable. Coming out to the living room he set the two mugs and plate of food on the coffee table, taking a seat and leaving a respectful distance between himself and his uncle’s partner. Hirose didn’t hesitate to dig in happily, a look of bliss on his face.

      “Mmmm~ Tora-chan, you’re such a good housewife!”

      Blushing, Tora kept his eyes fixed on the tea in his hands. “Um…Hirose-san, I don’t think you should be telling that to a guy…”

      “But it’s true! If you were a girl I would ask you to marry me!” Oblivious to Tora’s embarrassment, Hirose carried on with a grin, “Actually, if you weren't in love with Senpai I might consider it…oh, but don’t worry, Tora-chan! I won’t try anything. Senpai would kill me, eheheh…”

      “H…Hirose-san…” Struggling to keep his composure, Tora set his mug down. “Doesn’t it…I mean, aren’t you…isn’t it…gross…? That Ryouji and I…that I’m in love with—with my uncle…”

      “Eh?” Hirose looked at Tora in surprise. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

      “Y…yeah…”

      “Well…” Drawing out the word thoughtfully, Hirose pursed his lips. “I mean, I guess it was a little unexpected—that you’d fall in love with Senpai, that is. He’s pretty rough around the edges, I would have worried that he’d attack you! Just kidding, kidding~ But, since you’re both guys it’s alright, isn’t it?”

      _Well, he kind of_ did  _attack me..._ Tora blinked. “W…what?”

      “Like if you were a girl, Tora-chan, you’d have to worry about getting pregnant and stuff, but since you’re a guy it’s okay! And I think Senpai would like you either way, so that’s okay too.”

      “But…but isn’t that weirder? That we’re both guys?”

      “Hmm…it’s not that weird, though—since Tora-chan is so cute! Actually, I’d be more worried if you _were_ a girl, since that would be pretty dangerous.”

      Utterly confused at how Hirose seemed to have accepted it more quickly and thoroughly than Tora himself, the teen could only stare at him helplessly. Was it really that simple? It was certainly true that Tora wouldn’t have to worry about a child being born from incest, but…any normal person would have still found it disturbing, regardless of gender. Incest was incest, and being guys didn’t magically make it something else. Maybe Hirose was a bit different…and yet, looking at Hirose’s expression, almost child-like in its honesty, Tora found that he was reassured. Which was almost unsettling by itself. Resting his forehead on his palms, Tora sighed heavily.

      “Hm? Tora-chan, are you okay?”

      “Hirose-san…you’re shockingly innocent, aren’t you…?”

      “Huh?? Tora-chan, I don’t think you can say something like that to your elder! You’re still in school, even!”

      “No, it’s very refreshing, Hirose-san…”

      “Are you trying to be cruel, Tora-chan??”

      Before the high schooler could respond, the door opened and Ryouji stepped inside. His eyes narrowed as they landed on Hirose, sitting on the couch next to a flustered-looking Tora, but surprisingly he didn’t order him to get out.

      “Ah, welcome home, Ryouji.” Tora spoke up, his stomach doing a happy little jump at the sight of his uncle; it was like a conditioned response now.

      Ryouji grunted, slipping off his shoes and jacket. “I’m home. Why’re you here, Mimi?”

      “I ran into him at the supermarket and asked him if he wanted to come over,” explained Tora. “Do you want some tea?”

      “Any coffee?”

      “I could make some.”

      “Don’t bother.” Lighting up a cigarette, Ryouji eyed his partner, who was sitting quietly as though hoping the older man would forget about him. “You stayin’ for dinner?”

      “Can I, Senpai?” Hirose’s tone was hopeful.

      “No.”

      “Why not, Ryouji?” Tora joined in. “I just bought ingredients, there’ll be plenty of food—”

      “Tora, go to your room.”

      Tora was startled by the abruptness, and by the fact that the order seemed to hold no aggression. Not quite sure how to react, he stammered, “W—what?”

      “Go to your room. I need to talk to Mimi.”

      “Um…”

      “It’s work-related. I don’t want a kid listening.”

 _I’m not a kid,_ Tora silently pointed out, but something about Ryouji’s tone was serious enough that instead of arguing, the teen got up and exited the living room. He’d experienced plenty of Ryouji’s moods, Tora reflected, laying back on his pillow, but he’d never heard him sound so…professional. For a moment he was tempted to eavesdrop, and he actually sat up in preparation to do so, but stopped. _If Ryouji finds out he’ll probably be on a whole different level of mad,_ Tora reasoned, reclining back again. Besides, he didn’t want to betray Ryouji’s trust like that. He’d just ask him over dinner instead of sneaking around behind his back.

 

-

 

      “It’s none of your business.” Ryouji didn’t even pause in his eating.

      Tora hadn’t really been expecting anything else, but he was still disappointed. “Is it top-secret or something?”

      “No. It doesn’t concern you.”

      “Did something happen?” Tora knew he was pushing his luck, but it must be something big if Ryouji was acting so out-of-the-ordinary.

      “Stop askin’.” Still, his uncle didn’t sound irritated, which was even more concerning. For the moment Tora decided to let it go, wondering if Hirose would tell him. He didn’t have his number, but maybe if he ran into him again…

 

-

 

      A matter of hours later, Ryouji lay awake staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. For the past week homicide had been busy running all over the place; rumors had flown, but as a part of the organized crime department he and Hirose hadn’t been affected. At least, not until the announcement. After a series of murders and one not-so-cryptic note left behind at a crime scene, it became clear what was going on.

      There was a cop killer in town, and he didn’t care about casualties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist: there's a plot.


	9. iii. Breaking

      “Hey Tora, are you listening to me?”

      “Hwa?” Looking around quickly from where he had been staring out the window, Tora met the amused gaze of his friend. “Uh, sorry, what were you saying?”

      “You made a new friend, right?” Shibuya opened his bento, sliding the lid beneath the box so the corners lined up perfectly. “It’s good to see you coming out of your shell.”

      “What are you, a proud parent? It’s not like I can’t make friends. Besides, it turns out that Ishida’s house is in the same direction as mine.”

      Joking with his friend brought a smile to Tora lips. The dark-haired teen had always been far more mature than his age; even in middle school he’d been responsible enough that the teachers would trust him with just about anything, and even other kids would come to him with their problems. Although Shibuya had no siblings, his mother had a delicate constitution and was often sick, and with his father frequently away on business trips Shibuya had taken it upon himself to become the man of the house early on. Still, Tora knew that underneath it all, he was a normal high schooler with a weird sense of humor and a tendency to slack off if he could get away with it.

      “Can’t I be proud? You’ve been growing up so quickly I was afraid you’d become a moody teenager, destined to die alone.”

      “It’s a bit late to be a moody teenager, isn’t it?”

      “Some people hit puberty late.”

      “Shibuya!”

      “Although,” he continued over Tora’s laughter, “I guess there’s no need to worry about that, what with your sexy lady friend and all. Maybe I should get a girlfriend—I can’t let you advance into the adult world alone. Just don’t get married before me, okay?”

      Forcing a smile, Tora focused on his food. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”

_Something like that…it isn’t possible._

 

-

 

      When school ended, Tora hurried to find his friend, running into Ishida in the hallway.

      “Ah! Teshima, wanna walk home together?”

      “Sorry, there’s something I need to do today.” Tora felt a little bad turning him down, but he would have plenty of chances to hang out with Ishida later on, and he had the feeling that the longer he went without talking to Shibuya, the harder it would get.

      “Oh, alright. Tomorrow, then?”

      Tora nodded with a distracted smile. “Tomorrow.” Catching sight of Shibuya, he raised a hand, calling out to him as he rushed over. “Hey, Shibuya!”

      His friend waited for him to catch up, looking a little amused. “Yeah?”

      “Do you, uh…can I talk to you? I mean, can we hang out for a while?”

      “Of course. Do you even need to ask?”

      Blushing slightly, Tora knew that he was acting weird, but he was so nervous he couldn’t help it. “Um…can we go to a café or something?”

      “Sure.”

      As the two headed for the school gates, Tora struggled to find the right way to tell him the truth—the problem was, there was nothing “right” about the situation, so how could there possibly be a right way to explain it? Shibuya was being patient, not pushing or prying, and Tora seemed to be the only one feeling awkward. _For now,_ he despaired mentally. _How the hell do I even approach this?_ After a few more seconds he decided that the best way was to just get it over with.

      “It’s…about that person…”

      “Your girlfriend?”

      “Th—they’re not my…girlfriend…” Tora stalled, turning bright red.

      Just then a car pulled up in front of them, the window rolling down to reveal a familiar scowl. 

      “Ryouji?” blurted Tora. Caught completely off-guard by this random development, the teen could only stare while Shibuya raised his eyebrows, glancing between the two.

      “Get in the car, Tora. I’ll give you a ride.”

      Hesitating, Tora almost declined, but he knew that his uncle wouldn’t take that very well and the longer Ryouji and Shibuya were within seeing and hearing distance of each other, the more Tora felt like he might have a heart attack.

      “I-I’ll see you tomorrow, Shibuya.” Tripping over his words, he hoped desperately that his thoughts weren’t showing through his expression. He could feel a hot flush creeping up his neck and did his best to suppress it as he hurried around the car to passenger side. Right as he was getting in, though, Shibuya called out to him.

      “Hey, tell me about your girlfriend tomorrow! I’ll make time!”

      Tora’s entire face burned scarlet with a rush of blood and he shut the door harder than he meant to, not daring to look at Ryouji, who only paused for a second before pulling away from the school. When Tora finally gathered the courage to sneak a quick peek at his uncle, Ryouji’s eyes were fixed on the road and his expression was unreadable. _I’m so screwed,_ Tora thought desperately. _I am so, so screwed._

      The rest of the short ride was one of silence, and even when the car was parked and the two walked up the steps to the apartment, the only sounds were their shoes and the clink of keys as Ryouji unlocked the door. The older man stepped back, making it clear that Tora was expected to enter first. _Okay,_ babbled Tora’s mind as he complied, _okay, there are a couple possibilities now; either he’s going to kick my ass or he’s going to rape me. Or both. In no particular order._ It took some effort for Tora to not break into nervous laughter, but beneath his roiling nervousness there was a small, sharp undercurrent of real fear. _He wouldn’t kick me out, would he? Would he?_ Hearing Ryouji shut the door, Tora couldn’t take it anymore and spun around to face him, fists clenched and head bowed.

      “I—I don’t have a girlfriend…!”

      Ryouji slipped his shoes off. “Yeah. I know.”

      For a moment relief surged through Tora, prompting him to lift his gaze…which was a mistake. At the look on his uncle’s face, Tora froze like a bird caught in a snake’s glare as Ryouji took a long stride, closing the gap and crowding into his nephew’s space, fingers locking his chin in place.

      “You wanna know how I know that?” Ryouji’s voice was practically a growl, and Tora gulped, his knees going weak. “’Cause for the past couple nights, I’ve been sticking my dick in a certain _someone—_ ” at this, Ryouji grabbed Tora’s ass, making him jump, “—who goes on and on about how much he loves me. Now, the real question is, what exactly makes your friend there _think_ you’ve got a girlfriend?”

      Tora’s eyes darted from side to side as he tried to find somewhere to look that wasn’t Ryouji, but they were far too close for that. “Uh—um—w-well, it…it’s your fault too, you know…!” Squeezing his eyes shut, the teen braced himself as well as he could. “Y-you’re the one who keeps giving me h…hickeys everywhere, so obviously people were going to notice!”

      After a brief pause in which Ryouji’s grip on Tora’s face didn’t loosen a bit, the older man finally replied. “I didn’t hear you complaining about it.” Dropping his hands Ryouji stepped away slightly, studying Tora closely.

      Opening his eyes the high schooler released a shaky breath, rubbing his jaw. “I…it’s not…th-that’s…” Having narrowly dodged the proverbial bullet—not to mention the whirlwind of emotions from Shibuya and Ryouji coming face-to-face, the recent proximity of his uncle, and the embarrassment it caused—Tora was more than a little tongue-tied, and eventually Ryouji took pity on him, moving around his nephew towards the bathroom.

      “Whatever. Just don’t go telling everyone I’m your girlfriend, or else I’ll give you a nice refresher on who the woman in this relationship would be.”

 _I knew it,_ Tora thought, quickly followed by, _he’s always threatening to rape me, damn it,_ but both of those were obliterated as Ryouji’s final words sunk in.

_This relationship._

      Eyes widening, Tora spun around to stare at the (closed) bathroom door. Had Ryouji just…? Did this mean they…did Ryouji consider them…was it possible? Abruptly feeling light-headed, he staggered back and bumped into the wall, slowly sliding down to sit on the floor. He and Ryouji? _Relationship?_

 

-

 

_From across the street, hidden eyes watched as the car was parked and two people got out, one a pale teenager and the other…a filthy cop. The observer lifted a pair of binoculars, keying in on the plate number of the target’s apartment. So far the priority was simply collecting helpful information: residence, routine, basic background…and especially important individuals. Nothing was more satisfying that having a cop walk into the most classic of traps, practically self-served on a gilded platter. It was always more effective when children were involved, but unfortunately not every lawman was also a family man; women were a secondary preference and much more common, but not always serious enough. The current cop didn’t appear to have either. He had, however, gone out of his way to pick the student up from school, which clearly showed a desire to protect. Not a son, but maybe a nephew? That would certainly be useful._

_A cell phone buzzed gently in the stranger’s pocket, prompting a reaction. “Hello?”_

_“I think this one’s a loner. I haven’t seen him interacting with anyone significant, and so far he’s hardly used his phone for anything besides work. Seems kind of like an idiot, though.”_

_“Hm. Well, he shouldn’t be too difficult to take care of, regardless. I’ll leave him alone for now.”_

_“Alright. Should I move on to the next one?”_

_“Sure. By the way, I might’ve found one that suits your taste.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Yeah. I’ll show you tomorrow.”_

_“I can’t wait. See you then~”_

_“Bye.”_

 

-

 

      During dinner, Tora had a hard time looking at Ryouji, his uncle’s words still ringing in his mind. _In this relationship. The woman in this relationship._ His initial confusion and nervous elation was slowly dampened by the always-lurking guilt as he continued to think about it. _Ryouji probably didn’t mean it in that way._ Tora eyes were fixed on a spot on the table, not really seeing the wood as he absentmindedly pushed his food around his plate. _The most we have going for any sort of “relationship” is the fact that we’re sleeping together. Even if I was the only person in the entire world that Ryouji could get it up with…I bet even then we’d never have a_ real _relationship. He probably just figures I’m a good replacement for a woman, but in the end I’m still a guy._ Despite his growing negative thoughts, a flicker of defiance remained and gradually became larger, fueled by Ryouji’s actions from the past few weeks. The balloons at the amusement park, the dinner he cooked, leaving in the middle of meeting with Yumi because he was unsatisfied, coming home to Tora with the promise of _I won’t hurt you_ , waiting until Tora was ready, the hair ruffles, the foot-kicking, doing the dishes side-by-side and the conversations late at night, picking him up at school…

      Why _had_ Ryouji come to get him? The question interrupted Tora’s train of thought and led him away from the whirling storm of doubt and pessimism. It wasn’t like the school was very far, and he had been walking every day since he’d arrived. Glancing at his uncle, Tora contemplated asking but decided against it for the moment. He’d wait until Ryouji was in a better mood (or at least, as better as his usual mood could get) and try it then.

 

- 

 

      The next morning, Ryouji shocked his nephew again by driving him to school.

      “I’ll pick you up afterwards, so don’t go anywhere,” his uncle informed him before he could get out of the car.

      Tora hesitated, fingers curled around the door handle. It probably wouldn’t amount to much, but Ryouji was acting so strange that he couldn’t keep quiet about it. “…Why?”

      “Why what?” Eyeing the teen coolly it was clear that Ryouji knew exactly what he was asking, but was discouraging persistence. Strongly.

      Still, Tora pushed on. “Why are you picking me up, and dropping me off, and just…ever since Hirose-san came over you’ve been really weird. It’s creepy!”

      “…” After a moment Ryouji pulled out his cigarettes, selecting one and lighting it up. “I feel like it.”

      “That’s complete crap, Ryouji,” Tora shot back, frowning. “It’s freaking me out more _not_ knowing, so just tell me! Did something happen?”

      Releasing a long breath, the detective sent a cloud of smoke in his nephew’s direction.

      Tora coughed and waved a hand in an attempt to clear the air. “Ryouji!”

      “Get out.”

      “What?”

      “Get out of the car. You’re gonna be late.” Even as he spoke, the bell rang, startling Tora.

      “Shit—!” Scrambling, the high schooler banged his head on the frame of the car on his way out. Rubbing the sore spot, he glared over his shoulder at his uncle. “This conversation isn’t over!” he declared loudly before sprinting towards the school building.

      Ryouji watched him disappear through the doors, taking another drag of his cigarette before pulling away. He probably was being unreasonable. Tora was 18, not a child, even if Ryouji sometimes treated him like one. And yet, the Hyodo incident had occurred so easily…his grip on the steering wheel tightened when Ryouji remembered the photos of the crime scenes. If Tora got caught up in this he wouldn’t be molested; he’d be killed. Maybe if Tora knew how to fight it would have reassured him, but the kid was practically defenseless, oblivious and horribly trusting—the worst combination. Blowing a lungful of smoke out the window, Ryouji felt a knot of tension growing in his stomach. They had to catch this guy, and quickly.

 

-

 

      It was lunch break and Tora was sitting on the roof with Shibuya. Since Ryouji was picking him up after school, Tora was backed into a corner; the only remotely good time to talk to Shibuya in private was right then. While Shibuya ate steadily, his friend toyed with his chopsticks.

      “…So,” Shibuya finally prompted. “What did you want to tell me?”

      Tora chewed his lip, head bowed. “…I don’t…I don’t have a girlfriend.”

      “Your sex friend?”

      “N-no…well, I mean…um…it’s…a guy…” By the time he reached the end of his sentence Tora’s voice was so quiet he wondered if Shibuya had even heard him. He didn’t think he had the nerve to say it again.

      After a pause, his friend replied. “Are you gay? Not that I’m judging you.”

      “I’m not,” Tora said more loudly, blushing furiously. “I just…I can’t help it. I l…love him…”

      Again, silence fell between the two friends. After a long moment of consideration, Shibuya asked the dreaded question.

      “Who is it?”

      Immediately anxiety welled up inside Tora, choking off his voice and freezing him in place. _Oh god…how…how can I tell him…?_ Battling for control, Tora swallowed hard and gripped his sleeves with shaking hands. “Um…my, uh…R-Ryouji...” He felt like he was about to cry, voice wavering dangerously.

      The following silence was even louder than the first and seemed to stretch on forever.

      “…I see.”

      With small, painful movements, Tora looked at his friend, who gazed steadily into the distance before pushing his glasses up slightly.

      “You know that’s incest, right?”

      Tora flinched, turning his face away. Shibuya simply waited. “…I…I can’t…help it…” Nails digging into his arms, Tora had never felt so ashamed in his life. It ate him from the inside out and he could taste it flooding into his mouth, feel the burning brand of it in the marks hidden by his shirt collar. 

      “I see.”

      Shibuya’s tone was level and free of contempt, but those two words drilled into Tora’s mind and unleashed a sea of self-disgust so strong he felt like he was going to throw up. His head spun and he choked on his next words. “D—do you…hate…me…?”

      “I don’t hate you.” The words were followed by a sigh. “I don’t hate you, Tora.”

      The fair-haired teen bit back a sob.

      “But…it’s not right.”

 _I know_ , Tora cried internally. _I know!_ But his jaw was clenched too tightly for him to speak and his thoughts were too scattered to form into words.

      “I’m sorry.”

_Don’t. Don’t apologize to someone like me. I don’t deserve it._

      After a moment Shibuya stood up. “…Sorry.” With one last look at his friend, he left.

      Tora remained where he was. His trembling had ceased, but now his body was limp, all the energy drained away. Feeling a warmth soaking into his sleeves, Tora realized he was crying. No noisy weeping, his breathing measured, if a bit shaky—he had suppressed the urge to break down and sob so much that it had turned into a ball of pain sitting in his gut. Curling into himself more, the tears flowed freely and soundlessly. It felt like an eternity before they finally slowed.

_I’m the worst._

      Sniffing, Tora scrubbed his face with the hem of his shirt. He wasn’t sure if lunch had finished or not, but it was a safe bet that it had. Heaving himself up, he made his way sluggishly back inside, limbs too heavy to work properly. Arriving at his classroom he ignored the glances received from his classmates and stared at the floor as the teacher asked him where he’d been.

      “I fell asleep…I’m sorry.” The lie dropped from Tora’s lips with no inflection.

      “Alright, well make sure to get more sleep at home in the future.”

      Tora nodded and took his seat, fixing his gaze blankly out the window. It was so bright…so bright it made his eyes sting.

 

-

 

      “Are you okay, Teshima?”

      The worried voice of Ishida cut through the fog of Tora’s mind as he stood at the gates, waiting for Ryouji to arrive. Looking up, he saw his classmate’s brow was furrowed in concern.

      “…Ah.” Tora managed to find his voice. “Yeah…sorry, I can’t walk home with you today. My…my uncle is picking me up.”

      “It’s fine. Are you sure you’re okay? You look pretty rough.” Ishida’s tone was coaxing and gentle, sending a hollow pang through Tora’s chest.

      “Yeah,” Tora said again. “I’m okay.”

      Ishida was doubtful, but he didn’t want to press his classmate. “If you say so…I know I’m not Koike, but if you ever need to talk about something you can talk to me, you know?”

      Tora laughed, but it was hollow and short-lived. “Thanks.”

      Expression troubled, Ishida was interrupted before he could speak by the appearance of a car. Tora stepped forward.

      “See you tomorrow, Ishida.” His words were listless.

      Tora’s classmate watched as the vehicle drove away before starting on his way, mulling over the sudden and drastic change in his fellow student. Not paying attention to the sidewalk, he bumped into someone, and a reflection of sun flashed in his eyes as a camera fell.

      “Whoa!” Somehow, through very good reflexes and almost wrenching his back as he spun mid-step, Ishida managed to grab hold of the strap before it hit the ground. “Sorry, excuse me!” he apologized hastily, handing it back to its owner.

      “Ohh,” admired a warm voice. The man was a little under average height and slender, with dark hair parted neatly and tapered eyes. “My, my, those are some impressive reflexes. Thank you! You saved me an expensive piece of equipment.”

      “Er, no, I should have been watching where I was going…”

      “It’s alright, I understand. Summer break is almost here and it’s easy to get lost in thought.” The photographer smiled in a friendly manner. “No harm done.”

      “Still…sorry about that.” Ishida bowed his head awkwardly.

      “Think no more on it. Although perhaps if we run into each other again—metaphorically, of course—you might consider modeling for me?” Taking out a business card, he offered it to the student with another charming smile. “You have very nice hair.”

      Ishida blinked, accepting the card automatically. “Um. Maybe…? I mean, thank you.”

      “Well, I hope we can meet again~” And with that the man went on his way.

      Standing in momentary confusion, Ishida looked at the small rectangle of paper in his hands. _Wakahisa Studio_ , it read in elegant script. Shaking his head, the high schooler continued on his way, mumbling to himself, “Strange guy.”

 

-

 

_Wakahisa returned to where his companion was standing unobtrusively a ways away._

_“So?”_

_“You were exactly right,” said the photographer happily, securing his camera around his neck. “He’s certainly my type. Lovely skin, I can’t wait to see it up close.”_

_“I guess that means I know my next target. When should I make the first move?”_

_“Oh, I’ll have to get a place set up. How about I call you?”_

_“Works for me.”_

_“Wonderful. I’ll get started right away.”_

 

-

 

      Ryouji glanced sidelong at his subdued nephew. He’d expected more questions about the car rides on the way home, but as soon as he’d seen Tora he’d known something was off. It wasn’t a sixth sense or anything; the teen was just incredibly easy to read. Ryouji’s problem lay in how to approach the situation. The simplest thing to do would be to ignore it…only maybe it wouldn’t, because the detective could feel that it was going to plague his mind for the rest of the day. He had no idea how to go about comforting people, though.

      “…What,” Ryouji finally said, stuck on how to follow it up. What happened? What’s wrong? Hell, if he knew how to ask the right questions, Tora probably wouldn’t have to cry so much.

      His nephew didn’t react and was quiet for such a long time that Ryouji wondered if he had somehow fallen asleep. Debating on whether to wake him up or not, the older man was saved the trouble as a small, faint voice reached his ears.

      “…Sorry.”

      “Don’t say sorry.” For some reason it bothered Ryouji whenever Tora apologized. Like he was condemning himself before he even had a chance, always regretting. People couldn’t live life like that.

      “I’m sorry…” Tora whispered, bowing his head further.

      Stealing another look, the furrow in Ryouji’s brow deepened. It bothered him. He didn’t know what had happened and it was pissing him off, but there was no one to get angry at, leaving him with a growing sense of irritation and nowhere for it to go. Still, he had to do something—even if he didn’t know what. Reaching out he ruffled Tora’s hair, only it wasn’t much of a ruffle and more like a pat, except that he didn’t pull away and left his hand on the back of his nephew’s head.

      Tora began to cry. He couldn’t help it; his uncle’s hand was like a blessing and a curse weighing on him, and when Ryouji slid his palm down to rest on the nape of Tora’s neck the teen cried harder. It was so warm, and it felt like the warmth seeped down into his chest and filled his heart until it overflowed with love, and it felt so good and not wrong in the least but _it’s not right._ Tora knew that, everyone knew that, but Tora couldn’t imagine it any other way. _When what seems right is wrong, then what_ is _right?_ The words caught on a sob that spilled from Tora’s throat to hang shivering in the air, draping the space around him in his sorrow.

      Even when they arrived at the complex, Ryouji sat in silence with Tora and let him weep. He didn’t say anything, and gradually Tora calmed until there was only silence, punctured by an occasional sniffle.

      “…Sor—” the teen started, but Ryouji talked over him.

      “Feel better?”

      “…” After a short pause, Tora nodded slightly.

      “That’s good.”

      Moving his hand up for a final hair-ruffle, the older man opened the car door and got out. Tora followed suit, trailing after him up the stairs and into the apartment. He was 100 percent sure that he wasn’t okay, but Ryouji’s attempt to comfort him was like a disinfectant; it hurt, and the wound was still there, but it was a good pain, a helpful pain.

_I wish I hadn’t told Shibuya. I wish I had hidden the hickeys. I wish I wasn’t his nephew. Maybe if I hadn’t confessed to him, maybe if I’d just kept that a secret, too…_

      But no matter what, Tora couldn’t wish that he hadn’t met Ryouji again, couldn’t wish that he hadn’t fallen in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viva la angst.


	10. i. A Ghost at Midnight

      The next two days established a new rhythm: Tora would get dropped off by Ryouji and go through school on autopilot, then be picked up after it was over. He’d seen Shibuya a few times, but each time he found an excuse to go elsewhere and the most they’d spoken to each other were a couple words of greeting. Ishida continued to find him whenever he could, the two spending lunch together with the ginger-haired teen watching Tora in concern. He never asked, though, opting to instead initiate casual conversations that required little effort, and Tora was grateful to him for it.

      “Teshima, can I have your number?” he asked one time. They had been discussing things they’d done over the past summers, and Ishida was hoping to hang out with Tora during the coming one.

      They exchanged addresses and Tora wondered how it was that someone would want to be his friend when he was such a disgusting person. Granted, Ishida didn’t know what Shibuya now knew—and he would never find out, the lesson had been learned—but couldn’t he sense the filth that Tora seemed to feel oozing from his very pores?

      When Ryouji showed up to take Tora home, he looked tenser than usual.

      “I’ll be getting home late tonight,” he informed his nephew. “Don’t go out by yourself. And remember to lock the door.”

      “Okay.” Tora couldn’t even muster the energy to ask what he was so worried about, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer anyway.

 

-

 

      Tora was sleeping when the door opened, but half-roused when he heard footsteps. Vaguely he wondered what time it was; it hadn’t felt like he’d been asleep that long, but then again, he’d been asleep. A part of him instinctively wanted to get up and welcome his uncle home, but he was so tired…he heard the sound of Ryouji’s bedroom door opening while footsteps headed for his own room. _Ryouji and…who?_ Forcing his eyes to squint open he saw a shadow in the doorway.

      “Ryou…?” he started groggily, but no, that wasn’t Ryouji, the build was too stocky and why was there another person in the apartment anyway? Ryouji never brought anyone home unless it was a woman and this person was clearly a man—

      Before he could even reach the end of his thought the figure moved forward swiftly and was on him, pinning his legs and one of his arms with a gloved hand over his mouth, muffling Tora’s alarmed protest. The second pair of footsteps moved quickly to join them, grabbing Tora’s other arm and holding it down. The teen’s heart raced as he tried to struggle but he could hardly even move his head and the stranger’s hand was almost covering his nose and it was hard to breathe, and then he felt a sting in the back of his hand and a heaviness was gradually taking over his limbs. In a matter of minutes his eyes fluttered shut as his muscles went lax. The men waited a few moments longer before releasing him, the smaller of the two busying himself while the larger hoisting Tora up over his shoulder.

      “Nice and easy,” he grunted quietly, heading into the living room.

      “It’s a shame I had to use a needle,” sighed Wakahisa, getting the door for him.

      “You can’t be too picky when grabbing people,” came the reply. “Leave that open a bit—we don’t want him fooling himself into thinking the kid just went out or something.”

      “Yes, yes~ I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that, though.”

      “You never know. People convince themselves of less likely things all the time, like winning the lottery.”

      “Aha! Good point. Do you mind driving? I’ll give you directions, but I’m itching to get these gloves off and see if he’s as good as he looks.”

      Loading Tora’s prone form into the back of a nondescript car that had been “borrowed” for this night, the larger man let out a snort of laughter. “You and your weird-ass hobby. Fine. But leave his clothes on, understood?”

      “Thanks, friend~”

      Doors slammed shut and the car departed, leaving behind an empty apartment. In the backseat, admiring fingers trailed down the unconscious teen’s arm to his hand. A red mark had blossomed from where the sedative was injected, and a drip of crimson had escaped. Rubbing the partially dried blood away with a thumb, Wakahisa looked regretfully at the small mar. It was a necessary evil, but such a shame…it would heal eventually, though.

      All things in good time, after all.

 

-

 

      Working late was a bitch and Ryouji wanted food and a solid eight hours of sleep. But first, he wanted Tora. Not that he was pent-up—sure, it had been a few days, and sure, usually that marked the start of his pent-upped-ness, and…to hell with it, he didn’t have to make excuses, he wanted to have sex. He was tired and wanted to have a lot of sex. But Tora had been acting weird lately and was most likely already asleep and would probably get pissed if Ryouji woke him up. It might be worth it, though; crawling on top of Tora, sliding a hand into his shorts, the way Tora always arched his back, would flush all the way down to his shoulders where Ryouji could leave all the bruises he wanted. Although that led to stupid assumptions from other people, apparently, so maybe he’d just have to make it harder for people to see…

      The door pushed open easily as Ryouji went to put his key in the lock and his thoughts shattered, freezing his body in place for a split second before he was abruptly inside, hand automatically reaching for his gun that wasn’t there, was at the station, because off-duty carry wasn’t allowed and for the first time Ryouji wished that he had a gun of his own, to hell with legality. Blood was pounding through the cop’s head as he moved cautiously but swiftly past the undisturbed living room and toward the open door of his bedroom. A quick sweep inside showed nothing out of place; he should have checked more thoroughly, anybody could have hidden beneath the bed or in the closet, and he should have done a sweep through the kitchen too but all he cared about was Tora, _where the hell was Tora—_

      The storage room was empty, blankets a mess on the floor. Cursing, Ryouji lost what little cool he had retained. His hands were shaking slightly and his jaw was tight, breath sharp. Tora was gone. Images of the crime scenes flashed through his mind, no survivors, _no survivors._ He was helpless. The killer had walked right into Ryouji’s home and taken Tora from him. _Unforgivable._ Ryouji slammed the side of his fist against the wall, not caring if the neighbors were disturbed. _Unforgivable!_ He was going to hunt down this son of a bitch and kill him, fuck policy, fuck rights, fuck lawful conduct; in Ryouji’s mind, the bastard had no rights.

      A ringtone played. The screen of Tora’s cell phone lit up from where it was centered on the pillow. Slowly, Ryouji picked it up. The caller was an unknown number, and he answered it.

      “You son of a bitch.” His voice was a snarl and his fingers gripped the phone so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t snap.

      “Now, now,” came the drawl. “Why don’t we talk about this calmly?”

      “I’ll kill you. I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

      “Of course you are. Because that’s what cops do.”

      Ryouji growled and the voice talked over him. “You know the drill, right? Don’t think about contacting anybody. You’ll go where I tell you, when I tell you, and you’ll go alone.”

      “Where is he?”

      “Do you understand?”

      “Where the _fuck_ is he!”

      “Don’t do anything stupid.”

      The dial tone sounded in Ryouji’s ear and his arm shook with the effort of not throwing the phone as hard as he could. The thing was likely his only connection to Tora. Rage burned inside him with no outlet and he was almost choking on it; never before had he been so furious. Never before had he wanted to really kill someone. But by the end there would be blood, and it wasn’t going to be Tora’s.

 

-

 

      Not even an hour later cops were on-site, checking for fingerprints or anything else that might give some hint as to the identity of the perpetrator. Ryouji paced restlessly outside, tapping Tora’s cell against his leg. The phone had already been checked for prints; unsurprisingly, it only held Tora’s and his own. After a few minutes Ryouji’s boss, Himura, emerged from the apartment and approached him.

      “Have they found anything?” Ryouji demanded, not bothering to be polite.

      “Not yet.” The shorter man paused, lighting up a cigarette. “Look, Kase. I know that you need to be the one to answer the phone if he calls, but I think it’s a bad idea for you to get any closer to this—”

      “No.” Ryouji’s hand clenched around the phone. “That’s _my_ family he’s got, _mine._ I was involved the moment this started, and that son of a bitch is going to pay.”

      “Kase,” said Himura calmly, “I get that you’re angry, but it’s not our case. I can try talking to Ito as long as you don’t do anything reckless. If you do, I’ll take your badge if I have to.”

      Gritting his teeth, Tora’s uncle managed to hold his tongue, waves of unfocused animosity rolling from his being. Taking a drag, Himura tilted his head back and blew out a long stream of smoke, then offered a cigarette to his colleague. Ryouji glared but eventually took it.

      “I’ll see what I can do.”

      Watching his employer head back into the apartment, Ryouji took out his lighter. Smoking was usually something that relaxed him, but right now the only thing that could possibly calm him was Tora, safe, and the dead body of the fucking bastard who had endangered that safety. Soon a man exited the apartment and approached the detective; Ryouji recognized him as the head of the homicide department, Ito Shigeru. He was tall, taller than Ryouji, with thin eyes and smoothed-back hair.

      “I hear you want to work the case. Himura vouched for you.” The words were calculating and received a grunt of affirmation. “If I do decide to make an exception, there will be conditions. Are you ready to hear them?”

      Ryouji took a long drag of his cigarette and nodded once.

      “You listen to orders.” Another nod, and Ito blinked slowly. “I’m very serious in this; if I or any of my men so much as think you’re not listening, you’re gone.”

      “Got it.”

      “And most importantly,” he met Ryouji’s eye dead on, expression steady as a stone, “when we find them. Because we will find them. You don’t kill him.”

      His words were met witha stony silence.

      “We’re cops, not vigilantes. If you’re going to be on this case, you’re going to do the job right.”

      Ryouji worked his jaw, staring hard at Ito. Ito returned his gaze, not giving an inch. “…Fine.” He threw his half-finished cigarette away. “But I’ve got a condition of my own.”

      “It doesn’t work that way, Kase—”

      “I don’t care,” interrupted Ryouji, far past caring about protocol. “If my nephew’s about to—get unnecessarily hurt, one of your guys shoots first.” _And if I so much as think they’re not going to do anything,_ he added silently, _then I will._

      The homicide head looked at him coolly, assessing him. “…We’re not inhuman,” he finally said. “The victim’s life is, of course, the priority.”

      Ryouji grunted. “Good that’s clear.”

      “You’d best be clear on everything else, as well.”

      Tora’s uncle took out a fresh cigarette from his own pack. “Crystal.”

 

-

 

      Like the rising sun, Tora slowly came to consciousness. His head felt muzzy and his mouth felt dry, and his eyelids stuck together when he tried to open them. Forcing them to crack open, he regretted it; the light seemed to have a weight that pressed into his brain, and he groaned. _Is this what a hangover feels like?_ The teen wondered to himself. _I’m never going to drink, ever_. Attempting to rub his face, Tora’s hands were stopped with a click of metal. _What…_ Sudden flashes of memory rushed into his mind, and his eyes flew open with a sharp inhale as pain stabbed through his skull and he was reduced to a coughing fit.

      “Ugh…” His voice little more than a croak, he turned his head towards what he thought was the ceiling.

      “I’m sorry, you seem to be in quite a bit of discomfort.” The voice jolted through Tora’s system and his body reacted in alarm, clumsily shoving itself away from the source; his hands were bound to something, however, and so he only succeeded in slanting his body across whatever he was lying on. Cold concrete scraped lightly against his feet.

      “Oh, no, no, don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself!” The tone was chiding and concerned, like how one might talk to an unruly child.

      Waiting until his eyes adjusted was nerve-wracking for Tora, and he could feel himself break into a light sweat before he could finally get his eyes half-open. A short distance away from where he was lying on what seemed to be a futon, a man sat in a chair, watching him.

      “Who…” Tora’s voice was a whisper, not by choice but because his throat was too dry for anything else. Pushing himself up slowly until he was sitting, he glanced around the warehouse-like building. It was oddly clean and mostly empty aside from a few things that Tora didn’t look too closely at, distracted by what looked to be a…mini-fridge? “W-where…”

      “Well I suppose you can call me Kise if you want to, but I’ll have you know that’s not my real name.” Wakahisa smiled at him. “As for your second question, I’m afraid I can’t answer that. But tell me, what’s _your_ name?”

      Tora remained silent. Fear was eating away at his stomach and the man’s friendliness was only making it worse.

      “Ah, come now, don’t be that way. I really don’t want to have to hurt you. How about this: If you tell me your name, I’ll give you some water~ And just for your information, I don’t _have_ to be asking for your name. I could very easily find it out on my own, but aren’t you thirsty?”

      At the mention of water, Tora swallowed automatically, his throat sticking closed temporarily and making him cough. “T…Teshima…”

      His captor smiled patiently, waiting.

      “…Toranosuke…”

      Wakahisa laughed. “Teshima Toranosuke? That’s an interesting name. May I call you Tora?”

      Cringing internally, Tora shook his head quickly. This guy was weird, and dangerous, and his acting normal in such a disturbing situation made it very clear how not-normal he was.

      “Oh.” A sigh. “I suppose that’s to be expected. You’d only let your friends call you that, right? Well, I’m sure we’ll be friends soon enough, Toranosuke-kun. Here, catch.”

      Picking up a water bottle that had been on the floor next to the chair, Wakahisa tossed it to his captive, who just barely managed to grab it as it landed in his lap, flinching in surprise. His wrists were held together by a pair of leather cuffs chained to a ring in the floor. The chain itself was short, and Tora could barely raise his hands to waist height while sitting; there was no way he would be able to lift the bottle in that position. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to get it open. Looking up at his captor uncertainly, Wakahisa simply smiled at him. Clearly there would be no help from him, and the teen wasn’t sure he’d want it even if the man offered. Tora’s eyes returned to the bottle. He was so thirsty… Holding it steady with one hand, he managed to twist the top open using his middle finger and thumb of the other hand. Now that it was open, he hesitated. There was no other option, though, and so leaning down, Tora took the top of the bottle in his mouth, securing it with his teeth, and slowly lifted it. It was awkward, and as he began to tilt his head back slightly it hurt his jaw and the bottle slipped sideways. Water flooded into—and out of—his mouth, choking him; the bottle fell, soaking the shoulder and front of his shirt, and he coughed violently. He’d managed to swallow some of the water, but some of it had come out his nose and it burned, stinging his eyes.

      Wakahisa clapped his hands together and laughed, an apologetically delighted sound. “You actually did it! Amazing!” Trailing off into chuckles, he stood up. “Sorry—I’m sorry, really. That was mean of me. Here, I’ll clean you up.” Crossing the room to where a black duffle bag sat beside a basin, he unzipped the bag and pulled out a towel. “I’ll have to dry the futon, too, so I suppose I’ll be moving you.”

 _Moving me?_ Immediately Tora’s thoughts went to escape. If he could get his captor off-balance, if he could get a head-start, if the door was unlocked…if he could get his hands free. Studying the cuffs, Tora wondered where on earth the man had gotten them. They were made entirely of leather aside from two small, metal half-rings protruding opposite each other from each cuff. The ends of the chain, which was looped through the ring in the floor, were fastened in a complicated-looking manner to the “outside” cuff rings, while the “inner” cuff rings were locked together with a mini padlock. Located right next to the inner rings along the inside of his wrists, each cuff had something that looked to be a metal bar that was almost certainly the way to secure and release the cuffs, but for the life of him Tora couldn’t see how it worked. _Even if he takes the chain off, I’ll still have the cuffs,_ the teen realized with dismay. It would be difficult to run as fast as he would need to with his hands bound. Tora felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as his already slim chances of escape quickly dwindled further.

      “Nicely made, aren’t they?” Wakahisa was standing above him with a pleased smile, watching as he inspected the cuffs, and Tora instinctively tried to move away from him in vain. “They’re custom-made. Pricey, but worth it—and the few people who’ve seen them by chance only think I’ve got peculiar bedroom hobbies.” The photographer laughed at that, crouching down and beginning to wipe down the teen’s arms.

      Tora winced at each touch of the cloth, and as Wakahisa started and attempt to get the worst of the water from his shirt, the high schooler couldn’t help it, leaning as far away from the dark-haired man as possible. “D…don’t…”

      Wakahisa looked at him with mild surprised. “But Toranosuke-kun, you’ll catch a cold if I leave you alone.”

      “I-I can do it myself…” Tora’s voice was trembling and he could hardly even look at the towel, much less the man.

      “It’s alright.” Another charming smile that chilled Tora’s insides. “It’s my fault that you got drenched in the first place, so think of this as an apology. I’ve never been very good at knowing the right moment to stop a prank.”

      He continued to towel off his captive as the young man strained away. When Wakahisa reached for his face, he flinched and turned away as far as he could, squeezing his eyes shut. Still, Wakahisa continued to dry him off like it was the most natural thing in the world, like Tora wasn’t terrified of him. When Wakahisa finally finished drying him as well as he could and stood up, Tora released the shaky breath he’d been holding. The reprieve was short-lasting, though.

      “Time to get the futon back in order,” his kidnapper announced. “I’m going to let you up, so I’d appreciate it if you listen to what I say, Toranosuke-kun.” As if to emphasis, he took a switchblade from his pocket. Tora froze, eyes wide, and Wakahisa looked at him curiously before realizing why. “Oh! Don’t worry, this is really just for show, I’m not going to hurt you. My partner said it would be a good idea to take precaution, but you seem like a smart young man, Toranosuke-kun, so there’s really no reason for this to be anything other than pleasant.”

      It felt like Tora’s whole body was locked; his muscles wouldn’t move, his jaw couldn’t open. Even after Wakahisa released the chain from the cuffs, Tora still couldn’t bring himself to move; all he could see was the naked blade not two feet away from him in the hands of this psycho.

      “Toranosuke-kun?” Reaching down, Wakahisa took the teen’s arm, pulling him up with shocking strength. Tora stumbled unsteadily, his gaze never wavering from the knife. He could feel the panic building, feel it starting in his gut and moving up his spine, but it felt like his muscles had gone on strike.

      “Well, I suppose it’s not so strange for you to be scared at first. Everyone is.” With a reassuring smile that only added to Tora’s stress, Wakahisa led Ryouji’s nephew step by reluctant step to a different area of the warehouse. “If you could please lift your hands, Toranosuke-kun.”

      The thought of raising his arms and leaving his all-too vulnerable torso unguarded was too much for Tora; his body trembled from the tension running through it, but he didn’t move. Wakahisa waited patiently and Tora felt himself break into a cold sweat.

      Suddenly the man in front of him sighed. “I told you, I have no intention of hurting you, Toranosuke-kun. Lift your hands above your head, please.”

      The air in the building was warm and smelled of summer, but Tora was shivering uncontrollably as he slowly, painfully did as instructed. Light reflected from the metal edge of the weapon in his captor’s hand as Wakahisa reached up to secure the cuffs with a soft clink of chains.  There must have been another chain suspended from the ceiling, but Tora hadn’t bothered to look up when he’d previously inspected the building’s interior and now he couldn’t, muscles frozen with fear.

      “There. That wasn’t so difficult, now was it?” Tora didn’t respond, and Wakahisa sighed again, sadly. “You really don’t trust me, do you, Toranosuke-kun? I know it must be hard to believe, but I only want to be your friend. I’m going to be taking care of you from now on, so if you could relax a little bit that would be beneficial for us both. It’s not healthy to remain in a highly stressed state.” Dry, cool fingers brushed the skin of Tora’s neck, and he flinched away violently. “I’m going to go hang up the futon. Make sure that you’re breathing well and it should help you calm down.”

      As the footsteps of his kidnapper retreated, Tora felt like he was going to be sick. Voice, tone, words, smile, hands…everything about the man was utterly revolting. It was different from Hyodo; when Hyodo had had him everything had been moving too fast for any real thought, only wild emotions of panic and fear, and then it had ended, Ryouji quite literally kicking in the door and then Hyodo was gone, taken away to be locked up. But this man, “Kise”, as he had called himself, was worse. He had targeted Tora, crept into the apartment with his partner, maybe even created this place to keep Tora locked away, and was acting so horribly casual despite it all and even trying to be _kind._ He had pulled a prank and laughed like a child. He was insane.

      The footsteps returned. “Now then, Tora—I’m sorry, Toranosuke-kun. May I call you Tora-kun, at least? ‘Toranosuke-kun’ is a bit of a mouth-full.” The request was met with silence, so Wakahisa continued. “Well, as I see it we’ve got a bit of a problem, Tora-kun. Your shirt is rather soaked—completely my fault, and again, I’m terribly sorry about that—and I would hate to see you catch a cold because of a silly joke of mine. Unfortunately, I get the feeling that you might be tempted to try and do something rash if I take the cuffs off.”

      Tora was hearing the words, but the meaning behind them was lost beneath a growing sense of dread. The more his captor talked, the less he wanted to listen; he hated the way the man pretended to consult with him, as though Tora had a choice on whether to participate or not. As though Tora had already chosen to participate. He didn’t want to hear anymore; he didn’t want to know what was going to come next. But just like with everything else that had happened, Tora didn’t actually have any choice at all.

      “I hope you aren’t too attached to this shirt, Tora-kun.”

      Fingers gripped a handful of cloth and Tora jerked, twisting away, heart jumping into painful overdrive, but was helpless once more against Wakahisa’s disproportionate strength.

      “Ah-ah-ah, stop that, stop—I’m afraid I’ll have to cut it off you, so please don’t squirm so much. I would hate to accidentally hurt you.”

      A low keening sound escaped the teen as he gulped for air but couldn’t get enough oxygen, the edges of his vision going bright and blurry while his ears became muffled with a buzzing sound. The blade tugged on his shirt and Tora choked.

_Ryouji, Ryouji, Ryouji Ryouji RyoujiRyoujiRyoujiRyouji—_

_please—_

_save me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OCs galore.
> 
> I imagine Ishida with that light, ginger-y hair color, know what I'm talking about?


	11. ii. A Touch of Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some degree of described violence. Blood, pain...nobody dies, though. 
> 
> Yet.

      Tapping his phone with a finger, the cop killer recalled the police car he’d seen parked outside the target’s apartment. He wasn’t particularly surprised; it had been a fifty-fifty chance of his orders being ignored. In general the hot-tempered types would either lose their cool completely and charge in solo, or else summon up a full force of fellow cops. The latter was annoying, but it was easy enough to get them riled up to the point of doing something stupid. Normally he’d just send a finger, or an ear—one particularly memorable time he’d sent the wife’s nose, but that was troublesome to take care of. Not to mention he’d already given the kid to Wakahisa.

      Dialing a number, the man waited, listening to the ringing line until it was picked up.

      “Hello?”

      “It’s me. He decided to let his friends in on the game.”

      “Oh. Oh, no…why would he do that?” A sigh. “Do you have to…?”

      “I’m not messing around here.”

      “But you said I could have this one.”

      “I also said that I would use him if I needed to. You wouldn’t have had him without me, so stop complaining.”

      “He’s already so scared, though, I don’t want him to distrust me even more…”

      The cop killer snorted. “Of course he’s fucking scared, you’re a freak with a weird-ass fetish.”

      “That’s a rather harsh way of putting it; I simply enjoy the finer things in life. I think you’re the scary one here. But really, I’m serious.”

      “I’m serious, too.”

      “Saburou-san.”

      “I’m coming over. You can tell him what’s going to happen or not, I don’t care.”

      “Saburou-san, please, let’s discuss this in—”

      Saburou hung up, cutting off the rest of his partner’s sentence. Slipping his phone in his pocket, he grabbed the keys of his latest rental car and headed out. He’d probably go with a finger, maybe just the first joint. He _had_ made a promise, after all.

 

-

 

      Outside of the warehouse, Wakahisa shook his head as the line went dead in his ear. Closing his cellphone the photographer let out a long breath. This was going to be troublesome. Looking towards the sky briefly, he turned and entered the warehouse. Tora was huddled on the futon with a blanket draped over his bare shoulders, and he cringed visibly as Wakahisa stepped inside, which made him feel a little sad. Unlike his partner in crime, Wakahisa didn’t enjoy making his subjects hate him—that’s what he called the people he’d take under his wing, his subjects. He didn’t like terms like “victim” or “target.” They sounded so…sinister. Whenever Wakahisa chose someone, it was always because they’d caught his artistic eye so much that he just couldn’t help himself. Most of the time he preferred to have them model for him rather than take them from their homes and frighten them, but occasionally there would be cases like this; where simple modelling wouldn’t be enough.

      “Tora-kun,” he started, debating on how much he should tell the teen, “my friend is going to be coming over. You’ve already met him—well, I suppose that’s subjective. Anyway, we might get into a little argument, but I want you to know that I’m going to do my best to make sure that you’ll be fine. Alright?”

      Tora shrunk away even more and Wakahisa felt a pang of regret. No matter what, the high schooler would end up getting hurt. The photographer knew his partner. They’d been working together for a little over 8 months, and Saburou wasn’t going to be convinced to just send a lock of hair or vial of spit—he always wanted to make sure that his target knew he meant business. He’d do what he could, but… With a sigh, the slender man went over to where his trusty duffle bag sat. He always packed prepared, so at least he wouldn’t have to go out and get supplies, which ran the risk of Saburou arriving before he got back and being alone with Tora. Reluctantly he began to set out bandages, disinfectant, cotton swabs, tape, a salve that he had found good for multiple uses including rejuvenating and soothing irritated skin as well as a gentle pain-reliever, a surgical needle and thread (just in case), and a few other miscellaneous things he thought might come in use. He then carried the basin over to a spigot that was part of the building’s original plans and began filling it with water.

      “Luckily we’ll have hot water for you, Tora-kun,” commented Wakahisa to Tora. “I brought over a tank and heater when I was setting this place up. Good thing I tend to worry, huh?”

      His subject wasn’t watching him, pale face pressed into the blanket as though by not seeing what was happening, he could make it go away.

      “It’ll be alright,” the photographer continued, turning off the water valve. “Don’t cry, Tora-kun.”

      Slowly, Tora lifted his head and turned to give his captor an unexpected glare, fierce and spiteful. “…I’m not,” he ground out, voice shaking despite his best efforts. “I…I _won’t._ ”

      Wakahisa blinked in surprise, then smiled warmly; he certainly admired the kid’s strength of character. The faint sound of a car arriving reached his ears, and his smile faded as he resigned himself to a tough bout of negotiations that he would inevitably end up worse for. Two knocks on the door and then it was swinging open as Saburou walked in, work boots heavy on the concrete floor. Tora’s shoulders hunched defensively and he stared at the man warily. Stepping forward to meet his partner, Wakahisa gave him as earnest a look as possible.

      “You don’t have to do it this time.”

      “Yes, I do,” Saburou followed up immediately, “You know I do.”

      “But you don’t have to make it so dramatic, you could just send some of his hair, or…okay, I know that’s a bit too weak, but it was worth a try so don’t look at me like that.”

      The larger man just shook his head at the photographer in response. “He needs to learn that he can’t ignore me.”

      “Alright, then what if…” Wakahisa’s thoughts raced to find a compromise. “Ah! If you need there to be blood, I can just draw some of his blood. Right, Tora-kun? That’s better than losing an ear, and much less messy.” He looked at his subject for confirmation, but the teen could only watch them, face drawn with an expression of muted horror and growing fear. “I still have his shirt—well, it’s a bit cut up, but that works out alright—and if you just put the blood on that it would be just as effective. How about it?”

      Wakahisa watched hopefully as Saburou thought it over.

      “…No,” he said finally. “It’s not good enough. Look, I know I was the one who suggested him to you, but that was under the condition that if I needed him, I could use him.”

      “But he’s such good quality!” Wakahisa’s tone was tinged slightly by despair. “His bone structure is lovely, he’s well-proportioned and his skin is magnificent! His eyes are also rather stunning and even his hair is quite nice—although I would say his friend has nicer hair, but that’s beside the point! Saburou-san, please…”

      “I’ll just take the first joint. You can even choose the finger.”

      “But…” Glancing wistfully at Tora, Wakahisa tried once more to find at least a slightly more middle middle-ground. “What about just a fingernail?” Saburou looked doubtful and Wakahisa gave him a pleading expression. “Two fingernails if you must, but please, no cutting or chopping or slicing. Please.”

      After a moment his partner sighed heavily, running a hand over his head. “Fine. I’ll take a fingernail.”

      “Thank you.” Turning to his subject again, Wakahisa smiled encouragingly. “Did you get that, Tora-kun? You get to keep all your fingers and ears!”

      Tora stared, eyes brimming with terror. “Wha…what the _hell_ …is wrong with you…?” His words were barely a whisper, carried on a shiver of breath. Saburou started towards him, pulling a folding knife from his pocket, and the teen squirmed away as far as his bonds would allow. “No—don’t—don’t…!”

      “Ah, wait, I’m pretty sure there are pliers around somewhere,” Wakahisa interjected, heading for a lonely tool bench on the far side of the room. “Those will be faster, right?”

      “Huh. Probably,” agreed his partner, pausing with knife in hand. “Geez, you’re really prepared for anything, aren’t you?”

      “Well there were quite a few tools left here,” he replied, searching briefly before finding what he was looking for. “Although I did figure they might come in handy, in some situation.” Returning quickly he handed the pliers to Saburou.

      “You should help me hold him if you don’t want him getting hurt,” said the larger man.

      “No—” Tora panicked as the two men loomed over him. “Stop, no, don’t touch me, _don’t touch me!_ ”

      “It’ll be over soon, Tora-kun,” Wakahisa said, his tone soothing even as he forced Tora’s hands down flat on the floor. “Here,” with one hand pinning the teen’s wrists, he used his other hand to ball up a corner of the blanket, “bite on this, or else you might bite your tongue.”

      “Stop it, stop—” Tora babbled, unbidden tears springing to his eyes, and Wakahisa took the opportunity to shove the cloth into his mouth.

      “I’m sorry to be so forceful, but it would really be a shame for you to get any more injured than need be,” explained the photographer before addressing his partner. “Oh, try not to get any blood on the futon, please.”

      “Make sure you don’t let him go, then,” replied Saburou, settling on Tora’s right middle finger. Tora’s chest heaved as the man made sure that the pliers had a good grip on the nail, pupils blown wide. “One…two…three…” Tora whimpered as the count increased, “four…”

      The muscles in his arm flexed abruptly as Saburou ripped the nail from its bed and Tora let out a muffled scream, tears spilling across the bridge of his nose as his body convulsed in an instinctive attempt to curl around his wounded appendage. His action was foiled by Wakahisa, however, who kept a firm grip on the teen’s arms. Saburou, meanwhile, pulled a tissue from his pocket and neatly wrapped the bloody fingernail in it.

      “Would you mind holding his arms for me so I can clean him up?” Wakahisa asked his partner. “Also, you don’t need any more blood, do you? Because if you do I’d prefer you get it now, rather than make a new wound later.”

      “The nail’s good for now,” Saburou answered him, shifting into an easier position to hold down Tora’s arms. “If the target continues to be uncooperative I’ll just take more.”

      “Ah.” The photographer fetched the basin of warm water he had prepared, along with the supplies he had set out. “Well, let’s hope he cooperates after this, right, Tora-kun?” And with that he began carefully tending to the battered finger.

      Tora choked as the torn and tender skin where his nail used to be was exposed to things it never should have been exposed to. Tears were streaming across his face, and when the wound was disinfected he writhed in pain, arms held still by sheer force on Saburou’s part. His jaw was clenched so hard it felt like it might break at any moment and his entire body felt raw and abused, like they’d peeled his skin as well as his nail. Wakahisa was saying something but Tora let the words pass right over him; if possible he wanted to just black out, retreat into the only place he had left to hide, but there was a bright flare of pain at his fingertip that occasionally sent sharp flashes down his arm, scattering the comfort of unconsciousness. He didn’t understand. Why did the man need his blood, or any part of him? What was his name, Saburou…?

_He needs to learn that he can’t ignore me._

      Who was the “he”? It couldn’t have been Tora, that didn’t make any sense. Talking about fingers and ears and putting blood on his shirt… _if the target cooperates. If the target doesn’t cooperate._ All feeling seemed to suddenly vacate his body, leaving him weightless and hollow. Forcing himself to move, Tora painful relaxed the knot of muscles in his jaw, managed to spit out the wad of saliva-soaked blanket.

      “W…wait…”

      The man, Saburou, had stood, ready to leave, but paused as Tora’s hoarse voice reached him.

      “He…your t…w-who…?” Tora couldn’t bring himself to say the word “target.” The idea was more terrifying than he could imagine, worse than losing a fingernail, worse than the idea of losing all his nails, his fingers, an ear.

      Saburou’s expression was emotionless. “Who do you think? That cop you’re living with. Well, were living with.”

      It felt like the blanket was lodged in Tora’s throat rather than lying on the futon. _Ryouji._ They were going to send his fingernail to Ryouji. To prove a point. Tora wasn’t the target, Ryouji was.

      “D…don’t…please…” Forcing the words out, Tora’s voice cracked. “Please, not Ryou…please…” Tears began to gather and flow again and Tora hated that all he could do was cry and beg.

      “Not a chance.” And with that Saburou left, the door closing behind him with a thunk.

      Tora’s finger was cleaned and bandaged neatly, but his blood remained on the floor and he stared at the crimson stain, too exhausted to move. Wakahisa moved to sit by his head, gently running his fingers through pale hair. The teen didn’t even have the energy to try and avoid him. It was a fruitless effort, anyway.

      “Don’t touch me…” The words crept out of him, and Wakahisa paused mid-stroke.

      “I’m sorry that you had to get hurt, Tora-kun,” the man said softly. “But it could have been much worse. You know that, right?”

      His subject didn’t respond and Wakahisa continued to pet his hair, his hand slowly moving down until his fingertips trailed over Tora’s nape, swirling around the prominent knob of bone that marked his spinal column, tracing the line of his neck to his shoulder. His finger tapped lightly on Tora’s collar bone.

      “You’re quite thin,” mused the photographer. “You should really eat something, Tora-kun. It will help you heal faster. Aren’t you hungry?” When he received no answer, Wakahisa stood and went to the mini-fridge, pulling out a bottle of water, an apple, and a yogurt cup, then fetched some eating utensils from his seemingly bottomless duffle bag. “You haven’t had anything for a whole day, have you? That’s my bad, I didn’t mean to neglect your meals. Let’s start with something light. Can you sit up for me, Tora-kun?”

      The teen remained motionless, hardly paying attention to the actions of his kidnapper anymore, not reacting even when he took out his knife and began slicing the apple into sections. Ryouji was in danger. Ryouji was being hunted. And Tora was being used as bait. Tora would rather die than have Ryouji get hurt—or worse—because of him.

 

-

 

      “It’s clean.”

      Ryouji glared down at the white paper envelope that rested oh-so-innocently on the desk in front of him. It had arrived with the rest of his mail, but the name of sender was written in as Teshima Toranosuke, and the return address was a fake. Apparently it didn’t contain anything fatally dangerous, but he had a good idea of what might be inside it; in a hostage situation, it was all too common for families to receive some part of the hostage packed neatly in a box, and Ryouji had no doubt that whatever was in the envelope was, quite literally, from Tora. And that alone sealed the cop killer’s fate. Whatever was in that pocket of paper may not have been lethal for Ryouji, but it sure as hell was fatal for the kidnapper’s chances of surviving an encounter with the detective. He had to control himself, though. Ito and a couple of his men were present, and if any of them happened to pick up on his intentions, he’d lose his chance.

      With a growl Ryouji grabbed the envelope. _Let’s get it fucking over with._ It wasn’t a box, so it wasn’t like he was about to see Tora’s hand, and there weren’t any weird bulges so it couldn’t be a finger. It wouldn’t be a finger. Before he could hesitate again Ryouji ripped open the envelope. A folded square of tissue was inside, along this a note. Over his shoulder, Ito watched, expressionless, as Ryouji unfolded the tissue to reveal a fingernail, crusted with dried blood. For a long moment Tora’s uncle simply looked at the “gift.” Then, hand trembling imperceptibly, he pulled out the note.

_I told you not to involve outsiders. Next time I’ll send the rest._

      “We need to inspect that for prints, Kase,” Ito spoke up.

      Through an immense amount of willpower Ryouji managed to let the note drop un-crushed from his fingers. The detective to Ito’s right, a short, stocky man with pulled-back hair, stepped forward, picking up the note and envelope.

      “We’ll need that as well,” long-hair said, indicating the nail resting in its blood-stained tissue.

      Mutely, Ryouji handed it over, his face a mask, but his eyes were burning with a hatred so intense that he didn’t dare to look at anyone on the chance he was kicked off the case right then and there. A few long moments after long-hair left, Ito stepped forward.

      “Take a break,” the tall man advised. “I’ll let you know when we find something.”

      And so Ryouji found himself waiting outside the forensics lab, too riled up to be patient with anything. Normally he would have been smoking half a pack by now, but each time he tried to pull out a cigarette, he’d inevitably crush it between his fingers. He didn’t regret alerting the department; he didn’t, he really didn’t. Ryouji was quick-tempered, but he wasn’t an idiot, and he knew that the best chance of getting Tora back alive meant involving others. That didn’t change the fact that Tora had suffered because of Ryouji’s actions, though—would most likely suffer more in the future. The cop pressed his head back against the wall and clenched his fists until they trembled, short nails digging into his palms.

_Tora._

      Footsteps approached, and Hirose registered in the corner of Ryouji’s eye. His kouhai was slightly out of breath, brows knit together in concern.

      “S—Senpai…” His voice held none of its customary lightness. “Are you…ah…no. I’m sorry…” At a loss for words in face of the grim reality, Hirose lowered his head.

      Ryouji closed his eyes, letting silence fall around him.

_Tora._

 

-

 

      That evening, the cell phone trilled from where it sat charging on the bedside table. Ryouji, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed determinedly not sleeping, picked up immediately, yanking the cord out as he brought it to his ear, voice hard.

      “You’re going to pay for that.”

      “And you’re really in no position to be making threats,” came the response. “Have you reflected on your actions?”

      “I’ll reflect on them when you’re dead.”

      “It’s boring how predictable you are. Does your little friend here know that you’re this violent?”

 _Tora._ “I want to hear his voice,” Ryouji said, already speaking before the thought fully processed.

      “I think not,” replied the voice dispassionately.

      “And why the fuck not? How do I know he’s not…” The word caught and stuck in his throat.

      “…Dead?” supplied Saburou. “Oh, you’d know. He’s alive, just a little…occupied.”

 _What?_ And then Ryouji’s blood ran cold as he flashed back to Tora tied up on Hyodo’s bed and he shot to his feet. “You son of a bitch, don’t you touch him, don’t you _fucking touch him—”_

      “I’ve got a proposal for you,” the cop killer interrupted him. “Why don’t we stop the cat and mouse games and settle this face-to-face? Just you and me, no need for anyone else to get involved.”

      “You think I'm a fucking idiot?” snarled Ryouji.

      “I’ll bring the kid.”

      Ryouji was quiet for a long moment. “Where,” he finally said, voice strained.

      After receiving the location Ryouji slowly lowered the phone, staring blankly at the bed without really seeing it. The cell phone slipped from his hand to land on the carpet and then he grabbed the edge of the nightstand and threw it violently away from him. The contents of the drawer spilled across the floor and the lamp hit the end of its cord, knocking into the wall and crumpling the shade. Breathing heavily, Ryouji raised his hands to his head and drew in a deep breath, holding it for as long as he could before releasing it. He couldn’t afford to be irrational right now. Tora’s safety depended on him staying in control. He had to think.

      At the very least, if he was about to go headfirst into an ambush, he was prepared. Checking to see that the gun he had illegally secreted from the station was fully loaded and in good condition, Tora’s uncle picked up the cell phone and tucked it into his pocket, turning to also grab his car keys from the mess on the floor. Then he was heading out, the door shutting on the silent apartment like a heavy goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the last update for a few weeks. I've been very, very tired lately and while the story is running circles in my head, I usually fall asleep before I can even finish a sentence. No matter what I absolutely will not drop this story, though. I know the pain of unfinished works.


	12. i. Folly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was debating posting a spoof chapter for April Fools, but then decided to put that effort into finishing the real chapter.
> 
> There's blood in this one, again, but no gore.

      Ryouji decelerated as he reached the docks— _of course it’s the fucking docks,_ he thought in disgust—driving slowly towards the designated area and watching carefully for any movement between the warehouses. He had no doubt that the cop killer had arrived first and was currently waiting in hiding for Ryouji to give him an opening. Reaching the waterfront, another car appeared in his headlights; most likely a rental car it sat dead and dark, license plate missing, and the glare from the windshield made it impossible to see if there was anyone inside it. Leaving his lights on, Ryouji slowly got out, keeping the car between him and the warehouses and the door open, the area to his left an expanse of water. If the cop killer was still in or near the rental car, the headlights would create a similar effect to trying to look at someone through a campfire and make it more difficult to target Ryouji. Waiting, all he could hear was the lapping of the water and the rumble of his idle car. Nothing moved. The seconds dragged on, and the longer that nothing happened the more his focus zeroed in on the rental car. Was Tora really in it? Was he conscious? Was he alright? Obviously he wasn’t able to move, otherwise he would have definitely done something to give Ryouji a sign that he was there, although even if he yelled he probably wouldn’t be able to hear him. Unless the cop killer had taken him out of the car with him and was planning to use him as a shield…

      “Tora!” Ryouji called, not moving from his spot despite the pull that seemed to emanate from the dark vehicle.

      “He’s not here,” a voice suddenly replied, and Ryouji turned his head to search for the source, somewhere around the rental car, between the warehouses on the far side— “He isn’t really in any condition to be moving, if you know what I mean.”

      “Bastard!” spat Ryouji, the edges of his vision turning red. “What the hell did you do—”

      And then the window of Ryouji’s door shattered and he felt a tug below his right shoulder, and the angle of the shot confirmed his suspicions and he ignored the burning sensation in his arm to empty three rounds in the direction of his assailant.

      “Who’s there?!” The sound of running footsteps and a guard’s voice prompted the shadowy figure to dive for the car, and Ryouji fired his last two shots, sparks skittering across the door of rental car as one of the bullets ricocheted. Then the cop killer was peeling away with a screech of rubber and Ryouji slammed his door shut, holstering his gun discreetly as he stepped out from around his car, one hand raised slightly in a passive gesture.

      “It’s alright, I’m a cop,” he said loudly as the security guard appeared, procuring his ID and badge as proof. “I received a tip that there would be a dangerous criminal in this vicinity tonight.”

      “Why wasn’t security informed?” the guard asked suspiciously.

      “It was short-notice,” Ryouji replied flatly.

“…I see.” It was obvious the man didn’t believe him, but Ryouji didn’t care; he had been doing very little of that, lately. “Well—sir, you’re injured.” The guard’s tone changed abruptly as he stepped forward, expression turning to one of concern.

      “What?” Ryouji glanced down to see a small, dark patch of liquid collecting by his foot. “Oh.”

      Now that he noticed, he realized that his arm was almost tingling with a sensation of heat, particularly near his shoulder, but not painful. He heard the soft patter of his blood hitting the concrete and reached up to clamp his hand over the wound—and there it was, a throb of pain at the pressure. Only half-listening as the guard called for an ambulance, Ryouji grimaced as he elevated his arm as far as he could, his right sleeve already soaked in crimson. It was bleeding profusely, but as far injuries went it could have been much worse. He’d been lucky it hadn’t entered his shoulder. He didn’t feel lucky, though; not when Tora was still in the clutches of a psychopath. If it meant Tora’s freedom, Ryouji gladly would have sacrificed his whole arm.

 

-

 

      A few hours later, Ryouji sat in a vacant hospital room currently being used for an impromptu meeting between himself, Ito, and Himura. Ryouji’s arm had been cleaned and bandaged, and the doctor had informed him that there would be no lasting damage; the bullet had gone through the fleshy part of his arm and missed the bone, thankfully. It hadn’t even needed stitches. The head of the homicide department stood in front of him, Ryouji’s boss at his side. The room was filled with a suffocating air of disapproval, but Ryouji’s silence was just as intense, and the atmosphere was practically crackling from the clash of wills. Had any outsider been present, they would have steered well clear of the trio.

      “…What you did was dangerous.” Ito finally spoke, his tone steely. “It was thoughtless, and more foolish than I can properly say. I expected more from you, Kase.”

      Tora’s uncle remained silent, his gaze hard and utterly unapologetic.

      “You’re off the case.”

      Ryouji had been expecting it ever since he answered the cop killer’s second call, but being told still made him grind his teeth. He didn’t try to bargain his way out of it, though; even if he was off the case, he was still heavily involved, tied to it in a way that nobody could cut with simple words.

      “Starting tomorrow a detective will also be assigned to you at all times,” the homicide head continued. “We can’t have you running wild again.”

      “I don’t need a god damn babysitter,” growled Ryouji, eyes narrowing in irritation. This, he hadn’t expected.

      Himura spoke up. “Kase. It’s for your own good. You’ve already gone too far, and you don’t have a say in the matter anymore.”

      In any other situation, Ryouji might have actually felt guilty.

      “Until further notice, you’re prohibited from carrying firearms at any time…and I’ll be confiscating your badge until this is over.”

      In any other situation, Ryouji would have put up a fight. As it was, though, he simply glared as he reached into his jacket and pulled out his badge, holding it up. Himura reached over and plucked it from his fingers.

      “I’m sorry my subordinate caused you trouble,” he apologized formally to his fellow department leader. “I shouldn’t have asked you to allow him on the case.”

      “It’s understandable that you did,” Ito responded, eyes not wavering from Ryouji. “Unfortunately he decided to waste your consideration.”

      “Bullshit,” growled Ryouji.

      “Kase,” Himura said sharply. “That’s enough.”

      Reigning in his temper the detective grudgingly held his tongue.

      Satisfied, his boss continued. “Go home and get some rest. If the killer contacts you again, you come to us first, understand?”

      “Yeah, yeah,” Ryouji muttered.

      “Do you?” questioned Ito, expression calculating as he observed the injured man.

      “I said I got it,” Tora’s uncle reiterated aggressively, glaring defiance at his superior.

      “For your nephew’s sake, I certainly hope so.”

 

-

 

      Arriving back at his apartment, Ryouji stood in the entryway for a few long minutes. Now, more than ever, it seemed to echo with emptiness, a lack of presence that he wasn’t used to anymore. Over the course of a few months he’d already forgotten what it was like to live alone. Finally stepping into the complex (neglecting to take off his shoes), Ryouji stopped at his bedroom door, looking inside. The table still lay on the floor, contents strewn across the carpet. He didn’t want to clean it up; he didn’t want to try and sleep in his bed. Moving on he glanced into the vacant storage room, but he certainly didn’t want to stay there, not when it was Tora’s space where Tora should be. Where Tora wasn’t. Drifting into the living room, Ryouji realized that he didn’t want to be there at all. The entire place was filled with Tora’s ghost—Tora in the kitchen making a pot of coffee, sitting at the table while Ryouji teased him mercilessly, sprawled on the couch as they watched late-night TV, brushing his teeth after dinner, hanging the laundry to dry on the balcony…

      Turning, the cop was out of the apartment and down the stairs with long strides, getting into his car and pulling out of the driveway with no destination in mind. The remains of broken window glass had been cleaned out while he was in the hospital, allowing warm night air to flow in and ruffle his hair. Remembering the last time Tora had sat in the passenger’s seat, Ryouji’s grip on the wheel tightened. He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand it, but he couldn’t do anything, and it was consuming him.

      Some time later—it was probably a ridiculous hour of the morning, but he wasn’t concerned about that—Ryouji stood in front of an apartment and knocked. When there was no response after a minute, Ryouji knocked again, harder, and this time he heard the faint sound of someone bumping into something as they stumbled to get the door. It opened to reveal a sleep-rumpled Hirose, eyes squinted.

      “Wha…Senpai?” He rubbed his face with a hand as though he might be hallucinating. “Why are you here?”

      “I need somewhere to stay,” Ryouji explained, pushing past his kouhai. “Close the door. Did you even check who was knocking before you opened up?”

      “I did,” Hirose claimed indignantly as he closed (and locked) the door again. “I’m not—wait, Senpai, you have your own apartment, why…” and then he trailed off, looking at his partner’s back and the tension that seemed to have taken a permanent residence there. “Oh.”

      For a moment Ryouji was silent. Then he slipped his shoes off and stepped into his subordinate’s home. “I can’t stay there. Don’t worry, it’s not like I want to move in with you or anything. I’m just gonna borrow your couch for a while.”

      “Senpai, that’s mean.”

      But Hirose’s tone was half-hearted, and Ryouji could feel his eyes watching him sadly, and for once he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to be annoyed at him. He was Tora’s friend, too.

 

-

 

      The next morning, Ryouji awoke slowly, disoriented. He could hear the sounds of someone cooking and there was an ache deep in his arm that brought a grunt of discomfort to his lips as he shifted position. Maybe if he complained about it he could get Tora to ride him—

      “Senpai?”

      The single word broke through Ryouji’s train of thought and allowed the memories of the past few days to flood in, hollowing out his insides. There was no Tora anymore. He hadn’t gotten him back. Ryouji had failed.

      “Senpai, are you awake?”

      Ryouji sat up, looking over to see Hirose peeking into the living room.

      “Oh, good.” And then his kohai was ducking back into the kitchen, followed by the clinking of dishes and quiet sizzling of food. “I made, uh…breakfast?” His tone wasn’t reassuring. “It’s not as good as—er, well, it’s probably not very good, but…”

      Bringing two plates of food to the dining room, Hirose took a seat, waiting almost nervously for Ryouji to join him. After a moment Tora’s uncle got up and approached the table, running a hand through his hair—it was short, but sleeping on couches never failed to give it gravity-defying properties. Sitting down across from his partner, Ryouji looked at the meal in front of him. It was plain and made very clear that Hirose was no kind of cook, but he had obviously tried, and in some ways that was better than if it had been high quality.

      Taking a bite, Ryouji’s features remained stoic. “Tastes like shit.”

      “You’re too blunt, Senpai!” While he hadn’t been expecting anything else, the younger man still pouted, although his expression quickly became one of defeat after his own tasting. “Ehhh, it’s true—still, you could have put it a bit nicer!”

      “No point in making it sound nicer if it means the same thing.” After a few more bites, however, Ryouji gruffly added, “…Not like it’s inedible. Thanks.”

      Blinking, Hirose couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “Any time, Senpai!”

      “Pass.”

      “But Senpai, you said—” Before Hirose could protest any further, he was interrupted by the doorbell.

      Ryouji raised an eyebrow. “Expecting somebody?”

      “No, never.” Puzzled, his kohai got to his feet, oblivious to how bleak the words sounded.

      As he approached the entryway, Ryouji rose silently as well; the chances of the cop killer attacking in broad daylight were so improbable it was more impossible, but Ryouji wouldn’t put it past him to do something as crazy as that. Keeping out of sight from the doorway, Ryouji sidled close enough to watch Hirose’s face for any sign of shock as he opened the door. Mild surprise registered for an instant before a woman’s voice spoke up.

      “Hirose Naoki? Sorry to disturb you, but I’m looking for—”

      Before she could get any further Ryouji stepped into view, a scowl furrowing its way into his brow as he realized what was going on.

      “Ah…this must be him.” The woman was around the same height as Tora and looked to be part foreign, dressed in slacks and a button up shirt that did little to soften strong shoulders. One corner of her mouth was pulled up in a wry smile as she eyed him in return. “Kase Ryouji?”

      “Let me guess: you’re supposed to be my babysitter.” Irritation was heavy in his voice.

      “What?” Hirose piped up, thoroughly confused.

      “I’ve been assigned to keep an eye on him,” the woman explained concisely, “although I didn’t realize I’d have to be babying anyone.” She quirked a brow and Ryouji snorted, but before he could retaliate she continued, “Why weren’t you at your apartment?”

      Ryouji gave her a hard look. “How ‘bout I get a name first.”

      “Ueno Maya, homicide department. I was about to think you’d gone looking for him again, you know. Good think I decided to poke around before calling it in.”

      Tora’s uncle grunted. “Well, now you know where I am. Go poke off somewhere else.”

      “You’re avoiding the question.” Maya’s gaze was steady, and after a moment Ryouji reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter, gaze flicking down as he went to light up.

      “Didn’t feel like stayin’ there.”

      As Maya opened her mouth, Hirose jumped in hastily. “Um, do you want to come in? It sounds like you guys have a lot to discuss, and while we could keep standing here, I’d hate to disturb the neighbors…”

      “Thank you, Hirose-san,” the female detective smiled graciously, choosing to ignore Ryouji’s exasperation as she stepped inside, his partner making room for her before shutting the door.

      Turning away, Ryouji went to the living room but didn’t sit down, waiting silently for Maya to start talking. Hirose excused himself with a quick, “I’ll make some coffee,” and escaped to the kitchen while the woman leaned against the wall, arms crossed casually. She assessed her assignment before speaking.

      “The plan is for me to watch you 24/7 until this case is over. I was supposed to stay in your apartment.”

      “Well you’ll be stayin’ by yourself.”

      A wry smile was reflected in her tone. “I’m afraid you won’t be getting out of it that easily. Unfortunately, I don’t think Hirose-san’s place can fit three people comfortably.”

      “Guess you’re just out of luck, then.” Ryouji sounded less than broken up about the idea, and Maya laughed.

      “Actually, luckily enough, I happen to have an apartment of my own. I’m fairly confident it will do the job just fine.”

      At that, Ryouji growled, glaring at her. “Look, lady. It’s none of your—or your _boss’s_ —god damn business what I do.”

      “Oh, but it is.” Suddenly serious, Maya met his eye dead-on. “Our goal is to bring Teshima Toranosuke home safe and sound, and if you’re going to interfere with that, then this is a necessary precaution.”

      Tora’s uncle took a step towards his fellow detective, expression one of cold fury. “I don’t think you fucking understand. Nobody. _Nobody._ Wants him back as much as I do. So don’t come in here with your pretentious goals and tell me what’s ‘necessary’ or not.”

      Maya’s gaze was level and calm. “My father was a cop. When I was 12, my mother was kidnapped for leverage by a couple of thugs who wanted their friend to walk free—I happened to be spending the night at a friend’s, otherwise I would have undoubtedly been taken, too. My father worked incredibly hard to find her, but when he found the location, he went by himself instead of waiting to get a team together. They were both killed and the culprits were never caught. So I do, in fact, understand, and I certainly understand better than you the consequence of hasty actions.”

      Silence fell as the two stared at each other, only interrupted by the arrival of Hirose with two mugs of coffee.

      “Sorry, I don’t have a sugar, so it’s just black—” He stopped abruptly as the heaviness of the atmosphere hit him. “Uh…should I come back later…?”

      “No. We were just leaving,” Ryouji replied, not exactly complacent, but at least willing to cooperate.

      Maya gave him another small, wry smile before adding, “I’ll take the coffee, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The OCs will just keep coming. I'm also giving everybody names, now.


	13. ii. Sully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel positively wicked.

      Beads of sweat trickled down the expanse of pale skin, although Tora couldn’t stop shivering, jaw clenched to stop his teeth from chattering. He didn’t know how long it had been, but it felt like hours—once again he was standing, wrists cuffed above his head while Wakahisa circled him. His kidnapper had started out by taking pictures from various angles, but it quickly evolved into him asking for certain poses: look to the left, then to the right, could he twist his shoulders just so, and although Tora complied as little as possible, nothing seemed to bother the man. He was always smiling, always complimenting… Then the touching began. At first it was just fingertips brushing the hair away from his face, the occasional, admiring stroke of Tora’s neck, trailing across his collarbones until Wakahisa set the camera aside and placed a hand against Tora’s ribs, feeling each individual one.

      “You really should eat more,” he mused, unmindful of Tora’s attempts to move away. “While it makes for some lovely photo opportunities, I worry about your health.”

      His hand then moved up to the teen’s face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Really, wonderful structure,” he murmured to himself, taking his face in both hands to turn it this way and that, eyes roaming. “What do your parents look like, I wonder? Or maybe it’s from your grandparents. And your hair—have you got some European blood, Tora-kun?”

      Running his fingers through the pale strands, Wakahisa continued to muse to himself as he slowly made his way around his subject, hands smoothing across his shoulders, shoulder blades, down his spine. Tora wanted nothing more than to throw up, but then the photographer would insist on cleaning him up and nothing would change. No matter what, nothing would change; there was nothing that Tora could do besides submit and hope desperately that Ryouji was okay. However, when his captor pushed down the waistband of his shorts slightly to feel his hipbones, Tora couldn’t help the whimper that escaped as he jerked away, breath quickening in panic.

      “It’s alright, Tora-kun,” the dark-haired man said soothingly, even as he pressed his fingers lightly against the muscle of Tora’s stomach, “I told you, I have absolutely no intention of hurting you.” 

      He then crouched down, gripping one of Tora’s legs, and the teen jerked again but couldn’t get away as Wakahisa continued to inspect from his quads to his feet. He kept up a stream of commentary, but the words were lost on Tora as he struggled more and more for every breath, the edges of his vision beginning to go bright and blurred. He hated it; he hated it so much that he wanted to crawl out of his skin and hide in the darkest corner of the world where nobody could ever find him, where nobody could ever touch him again. In that moment, he would have rather lit himself on fire than endure another minute of the man’s explorations, would have rather lost his ears than listen to the “praises” that were laid so thickly upon him. Never before had Tora felt so overwhelming dirty, such complete disgust. He was choking on it, drowning in it.

      Wakahisa sighed happily as he straightened up. “You really are better than I ever could have hoped for, Tora-kun,” he said, fingers at the high schooler’s collarbones once again. “I think I’ll take care of you for a long time~”

 

-

 

      It was early afternoon and Shibuya was sitting on his bed, staring at his phone and contemplating the number on the screen. He had noticed, of course, how Tora had been avoiding him at school, and he was pretty sure he knew why. The confession he’d heard on Wednesday was still playing in his head, and while he felt terrible for making his friend feel so low, the fact that they were friends couldn’t excuse the fact that Tora was sleeping with his uncle. No matter how the dark-haired teen looked at it, it was just plain disturbing. If Tora had only come out as gay it would have been fine. Surprising, definitely, but better than incest, and Shibuya knew that in that situation, all he’d have to do was call his friend and apologize—but in this case he couldn’t do that, because he’d meant what he’d said. He couldn’t apologize for the truth, and he wouldn’t apologize if he didn’t mean it. That would be just as cruel. At the same time, though, he couldn’t let things end like that; they’d been friends since middle school, and a friendship like theirs wasn’t supposed to be broken so messily.

      However, even if he did call Tora, what was he supposed to say if not sorry? And that was the problem. There wasn’t anything else _to_ say. It didn’t help that all Shibuya could think of were the hickeys that had covered his friend’s neck, but both of them were also simply too shaken from what had happened that nothing good would come of talking so soon. He didn’t want to wait too long, though, otherwise he feared that the “right time” would just keep getting further and further away until suddenly they were like strangers. His finger hovering over the call button, Shibuya was torn until his mother’s voice decided for him.

      “Shibuya, lunch is ready!”

      Releasing a breath, the high schooler called back, “Coming!” before setting his phone aside and running his hands through his hair. _Five more days,_ he promised himself as he stood up. _A week at most, and then I’ll call him._

 

-

 

      Another day and exhaustion was beginning to fog Tora’s mind; he hadn’t been sleeping well even before he’d been kidnapped, and now he was hardly sleeping at all. He’d been moved back to the futon and was currently lying motionless as food was laid out in front of him.

      “Tora-kun, please,” Wakahisa cajoled gently, holding a section of mikan to his lips. “You need to eat, you must be terribly hungry. You’ll waste away if you keep this up. Do you at least want some water? It’s been getting quite a bit warmer, and you need to stay hydrated.”

      Tora ignored his attempts, eyes fixed on a spot beyond his captor. Wakahisa’s brow furrowed in concern and he sat back on his heels.

      “Do you want a bath? It’s been a while, you’re probably feeling pretty dirty. Am I right, Tora-kun? Would that help?”

      Still, he received no response, and so after another few moments the photographer stood, going to where the basin sat and partially filling it up with warm water before bringing it over, along with a washcloth from the familiar duffel bag. Dipping the cloth into the water and ringing it out thoroughly, he began to process of wiping down Tora’s arms, torso, and legs, being mindful of the finger bandage on his right hand—he had just changed it that morning, had made sure to change it every morning since the nail had been torn off, and was pleased that there were no signs of infection. Once finished, he tilted his head at his limp subject.

      “You probably want to take care of the rest, Tora-kun,” he suggested, offering the cloth to the teen. “I’ll go and wait over there, okay?”

      Placing the washcloth in Tora’s open left hand, Wakahisa moved away a short distance, turning his back respectfully. Tora didn’t move, the damp cloth growing cool. After a couple of minutes the man looked over his shoulder, sighing sadly when he saw that Tora hadn’t even changed position.

      “Really now, Tora-kun,” he rebuke mildly, returning to his former spot by the futon, “There’s no need for you to be like this. Refusing to eat is only hurting yourself you know.”

      When silence was the only answer, Wakahisa looked toward the ceiling, thinking. After a minute he suddenly brightened, clapping his hands together.

      “I know! If you eat something, I’ll let you talk to your cop friend—how does that sound? Of course if you’re going to tell him anything you shouldn’t I’ll hang up right away, but won’t it be nice to hear his voice? What do you say, Tora-kun?”

      After a pause of disbelief, Tora’s gaze slowly moved to meet the older man’s, eyes full of a fearful, yet starving, hope. “…You’re lying,” the teen whispered hoarsely.

      “Not at all,” Wakahisa said earnestly. “I’ve really only got your best interests at heart, Tora-kun. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to completely protect you from Saburou-san, but I tried my best, you know? I promise, as long as you eat and drink properly I’ll call him for you.”

      “…” Unable to respond immediately, Tora struggled with his conflicting desires. On one hand, the last thing he wanted to do was give in completely to his kidnapper’s whims, but on the other… Pushing himself up shakily, Tora avoided the photographer’s eye, ashamed for being so weak but desperate to even just hear Ryouji’s voice. “F…fine…”

      “Wonderful!”

      Proffering the mikan slice once again, Wakahisa smiled happily as Tora ate it, albeit reluctantly. After the fruit came several sips of water, followed by some dried fish and a plain, convenience store onigiri. As he finished the meal up with a few more drinks from the plastic bottle, Wakahisa began talking again.

      “So, Cop-san—is he your father? He looks a bit young to be your father, and, well, to be honest you don’t really look like him all that much, so maybe he’s an uncle? Or a cousin? Tell me about yourself, Tora-kun.”

      Tora continued to ignore him, focusing on drinking the water without choking, thinking only of Ryouji. He couldn’t tell his uncle where he was even if he was allowed to try, but maybe he could do something else, anything…but what if Ryouji _did_ find him? Wasn’t that exactly what his kidnappers wanted? But maybe he wouldn’t even get to talk to him at all if the man was lying. Tora had eaten like he had wanted him to; there was no reason to go through with the promise now.

      Finished, Tora licked his lips, failing to meet his captor’s eye completely. “I…I want to talk to him.”

      “Of course, of course~ What’s your cell number?” Pulling his own phone out of his pocket, Wakahisa waited expectantly.

      A lump began to form in Tora’s throat. The photographer was keeping his word; he was actually going to be able to talk to Ryouji. Swallowing, his words trembled slightly as he recited the number, and he held his breath as Wakahisa dialed.

      “I have it on speaker, Tora-kun,” the man explained, holding it between them but closer to the teen, “so remember, nothing you shouldn’t tell him.”

 

-

 

      Ryouji looked around the apartment. It was small—but then again, any apartment rented on a cop’s salary would be—and for the most part tidy. It also smelled…girly.

      “Make yourself comfortable,” Maya said, moving past him. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

      “I’m good.” Slipping his shoes off, Ryouji stepped into her home.

      “This is where you’ll be sleeping.” Maya patted the back of the couch. “It’s a couch bed, so when you want to sleep just move the coffee table. It doesn’t fold out too far, though, so you’ll probably still want to sleep length-wise.”

      Ryouji grunted an acknowledgement and Maya smiled wryly, a trait he was quickly recognizing as her default.

      “Look, Kase-san,” she started, but was interrupted.

      “Just call me Kase.”

      “Alright then. I hear you’re a good cop, Kase. But you know, you aren’t the only one. You’re not alone, and certainly not surrounded by incompetents. We’ll find this guy. Trust me.”

      Tora’s uncle didn’t respond, but he didn’t look away, either, and after a moment Maya offered another small smile.

      “Well, I could go for some food right now.” Heading into the kitchen, she added over her shoulder, “Wanna give me a hand? I’ll show you where everything is—just because you’re going to be staying doesn’t make me your mother.”

      Snorting, Ryouji went to lean in the doorway. “Didn’t expect you to be. I can take care of myself.”

      “Oh good.” Gathering preparations, Maya went about putting together a snack for herself. “You sure you don’t want anything?”

      “I ate at Mimi’s.”

      Pausing in her work, Maya raised a brow at him, an expression she did very effectively. “Mimi…Hirose-san? You call him Mimi?”

      “Yeah.”

      She laughed, a throaty sound, shaking her head slightly. “That’s a little mean, isn’t it?”

      Ryouji scoffed. “Now you sound like him.”

      “Well if we’re both saying it, it’s probably because we’re right.”

      “I doubt that.”

      Leaning back against the counter so she could face the man, Maya started on her food. “So, tell me about yourself, Kase.”

      “What do you wanna know?”

      “Why’d you become a cop?”

      “Pfft. As if I’d remember that.”

      “Oh, come on, we all remember why we wanted to be cops. Don’t be so shy.”

      “Alright, fine.” Tilting his head back, Ryouji looked at the ceiling, thinking. “…When I was in school, there was this kid. He had a rep for getting into shit kids shouldn’t’ve been getting into, but he’d never been caught for anything, so it was just hearsay and rumors. ‘Cept then one of my friends started hanging out with him, and pretty soon there was a bust. My friend was caught red-handed, but the other kid managed to get away scot-free.”

      “So…you wanted revenge or something?”

      “Nah. My friend was an idiot in the first place for doing that kinda shit.”

      “What’s the reason, then?”

      After a pause, Ryouji shrugged. “Wanted to prove that guys like that can’t get away with it. Not forever.”

      “Huh.” Finished with her snack, Maya set her dish aside, crossing her arms. “I’m impressed.”

      “About what?”

      “I just didn’t think you were so…pure and noble.”

      “’Scuse me?”

      “And in such a child-like way.” Maya was suppressing a grin just a little too obviously, and Ryouji narrowed his eyes.

      “The hell’s that mean?”

      “Nothing, nothing. Don’t worry, you’re very manly, Kase.”

      “Look, you—”

      Before the conversation could devolve further, it was disrupted by the trill of a ringtone. Ryouji’s expression became stony, and Maya sobered immediately as the man pulled Tora’s cellphone from his pocket, on the alert. Glaring at the small screen, Ryouji mashed the glowing green button more aggressively than needed.

 

-

 

      The phone stopped mid-ring, and Tora’s heart stopped with it.

      “What.”

      It was a single word and Ryouji sounded like Tora had never heard him before, cold and utterly hostile, but nothing could stop the flood of emotions at finally hearing his uncle’s voice. Tora’s chest clenched painfully, tears pressing at the back of his eyes as the lump in his throat grew, rendering him unable to speak.

      “What the hell do you want?”

      Now he sounded impatient, the familiar blunt, short-tempered tone, and a choked laugh managed to escape from the teen, bringing a dry sob with it. There was a moment of silence from the other end of the line.

      “…Tora?”

      Amber eyes shut tight, forcing back the tears. “…Ryouji…”

      “ _Tora._ ” The intensity with which Ryouji said his name made Tora feel as though he was going to be pulled through the phone. “Tora, where are you? Are you— _where are you?_ ”

      Tora’s voice shook as he struggled against the urge to simply breakdown crying. “I—I can’t, I’m…I’m sorry, Ryouji—”

      “What do you mean, you can’t? Are you okay? Has he—did he do anything else to you? Damn it, where the hell are you?!” Ryouji’s tone was becoming agitated, desperate. It was enough to break Tora’s heart.

      “I don’t—I don’t know, I…Ryouji, I…” Tora started to cry haltingly, fighting to stay coherent. “I can’t tell you, h-he’ll hang up—”

      “He’ll—son of a _bitch,_ is he—”

      Tears fell quickly, absorbed by the futon as Tora began to cry in earnest, his shoulders shaking.

      “ _Tora_ —talk to me, is there anything, his name, _what’s his name?_ ”

      Although Ryouji couldn’t see him, Tora shook his head. The man had said himself, Kise was only a fake name, and the other man—the other man. What had he said? The memory flashed clear and crisp in his memory, the panic, the pain, _Saburou-san, please…_

      “Saburou,” Tora blurted out, “Sa—”

      “Oh _no,_ no no no,” Wakahisa said quickly, pulling the phone away. “Why on earth would you do that, Tora-kun?”

      “No!” The teen struggled against his bonds, straining towards the phone. “No, wait, please, don’t—”

      “I was even going to let you talk to him again if you cooperated,” the photographer sighed, even as Ryouji’s voice crackled through the cell.

      “Tora? _Tora!_ You son of a bitch, I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you—!”

      “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please,” Tora begged frantically, “I didn't mean to, _please,_  I won’t do it again, don’t, please, I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever you want I’ll eat I’ll take a bath I’ll please don’t hang up let me talk to him—”

Wakahisa simply shook his head sadly. “I told you, Tora-kun.”

As his captor lifted the phone, Tora lunged against the cuffs. “ _Ryouji!_ Ryouji, Ryouji, no, Ryouji—”

“Tora?! Tora! What—”

“Bye bye, Cop-san.”

The phone snapped shut, and with it, Tora’s mind.


	14. i. Resolution (pt. I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, finally -- sorry about the wait.

      For a long moment, Ryouji simply stared at the phone in his hand as though if he waited long enough, it would ring again. His face was pale and his eyes burned, feverish and dark.

      Finally, Maya, who had been listening to everything with mounting concern, broke the silence. “Kase?” Receiving no noticeable response, she tried again. “Kase? Did you get a name?”

      As though he had forgotten she was even there, Tora’s uncle slowly turned away, and then abruptly he was headed straight for the door but somehow Maya got around in front of him, slamming her hands against his chest and pushing him back with her full weight and strength.

      “Kase, stop!”

      “Out of the way,” he growled, not even looking at her.

      “No! Listen to me, where are you planning to go?! There’s nowhere _to_ go!”

      When he simply growled again, intent on getting past her, Maya steeled herself.

      “I’m sorry, Kase, but—” drawing her hand back, the female officer straight-armed him with her other hand, “—you need to calm down and _think!_ ”

      And with that, she dealt a hard blow to his face with the heel of her hand—to call it a slap would be a woeful understatement. Ryouji stumbled a step, stunned.

      “…You _bitch—_ ” he started, but Maya cut him off immediately.

      “Stop right there, Kase,” she warned.

      “What the f—”

      “I said shut up and sit down!”

      Taken completely off-guard, Ryouji simply stared at her, hard, not moving an inch.

      “Now _listen_ to me,” she emphasized, taking advantage of the brief moment when she held his attention. “If you go running around out there, it’s just going to be pointless and dangerous. We don’t know if— _or when_ —the cop killer is watching you, so—hey!” Ryouji’s gaze had wandered to the door, and Maya snapped her fingers in front of his face. “You better be listening to me, Kase, or I swear to God I will cuff you to the fucking fridge. I know you want to find him, I know you do, but it’s safer for everyone if you just stay here and cool down. Okay?”

      The man kept his mouth shut in grim silence, drawing a glare from the homicide detective.

      “I hope you understand, because I’ve been authorized to use force to keep you from doing anything rash. If you resist, I will consider it assaulting an officer as well as interfering in an active investigation, and I _will_ arrest you.”

      “…” Still, Ryouji didn’t move, so Maya stayed right where she was, more than ready to stop him if he tried anything. “I can’t just…You can’t expect me to just—”

      “I do, and you will.”

      Making a low sound of frustration and disgust, Tora’s uncle turned away, pacing furiously.

      “What did he tell you, Kase?”

      Ryouji’s glare was razor sharp; Maya, unwavering. “Saburou. Just Saburou. But there’s two of them, that fucker with Tora wasn’t the guy I talked to before.” Around the phone, Ryouji’s fist clenched until his knuckles were white and trembling and his nails dug into the palm of his free hand.

      “Alright. Alright, I’m going to call this in. Stay here. Please.”

      Giving him a final look, Maya excused herself to the kitchen, allowing them both some privacy. Quickly pulling out her phone, she hit speed dial and didn’t even wait for a greeting before speaking.

      “Boss.”

      “Ueno. How’s it going?”

      “Surprisingly well, at first, but…he got a call. It was Teshima-kun. Kase says that the killer probably has a partner, judging by the voice, and Teshima-kun managed to give us a name, Saburou.”

      “Anything else?”

      “No, just that.”

      “I’ll let you know if we find something.” After a short pause, Ito added, “…How is he?”

      Maya glanced towards the living room; she couldn’t see Ryouji, but she hadn’t heard the door, so she knew he was still there. Sighing quietly, she lowered her voice slightly. “Like a caged animal. He’ll listen to reason if you make him, but if the killer calls him out again, short of locking him up I don’t think we’ll be able to stop him.”

      “Let’s hope this guy wants to let Kase suffer the suspense for a while, then. Keep up the good work.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Out where Maya had left him, Ryouji had ceased pacing, but he was far from calm. His eyes kept wandering to the door, but the larger part of him knew that the female detective was right. Even if he left he had no clue where to go; all he had was the echo of Tora’s voice and his own smoldering anger.

 

-

      Three days later and still no word from the cop killer. Ryouji had gradually become more docile, sleeping—or at least lying—on the couch at night, watching the news in the mornings and not saying a word of protest when, instead of going for a run outside, he was confined to the gym. His lack of reaction, however, had only served to put Maya on edge rather than at ease.

      “That can’t be normal,” she said as she and Ryouji’s partner watched him lifting weights stoically, doing rep after rep like there was nothing else he could be doing. “I don’t know him as well as you do, Hirose-san, but if I miss-judged his personality this badly then I don’t deserve to be a cop.”

      “It’s not normal at all—definitely, definitely not normal,” Hirose agreed fervently. “One time I called Tora-chan cute and he threatened to crush my—”

      The young detective abruptly seemed to remember that he was talking to a lady and stuttered off.

      “My, uh…well, anyway, I think it’s really probably not a good sign that he’s acting like this,” he rushed on, ears turning red.

      Maya discreetly covered her smirk with a hand, disguising it as a yawn that suddenly turned into a real one. With Ryouji uncomfortably close to the front door each night, the homicide detective had been sleeping lightly, waking at the slightest noise. But however tired she was, she had no doubt that Ryouji was doing worse. Every evening as she went to her room the man would be sitting on the couch either pretending to watch TV or simply staring at the phone in his hand, and every morning she was greeted by the same sight.

      “He can’t keep this up,” Maya said solemnly. “Nobody can. We need to catch this guy before something snaps and all hell breaks loose.”

      “Have you guys found anything to do with Saburou?” Hirose looked at Maya with open concern as he inquired about the only solid lead they had; Ryouji had told his partner about Tora’s phone call the day of the event, seeming to find a small sense of security in sharing with someone who knew and cared for Tora personally.

      The female officer sighed in frustration and shook her head. “No. As far as we can tell, none of the victims had been in touch with anyone named Saburou in the days leading up to the crimes. We even checked the places each family had in common as far as shopping and eating. Nothing.”

      “…” Hirose dropped his gaze, frowning. As care-free and passive as he seemed, he hated being helpless just as much as anyone else. Suddenly he lifted his head, eyes wide. “What about cabs? Could they have met him in a cab?”

      Maya looked at him in surprise. “…That’s a possibility,” she said, nodding slowly. “That is definitely a possibility. Damn it, why didn’t we think of that sooner?”

      Clapping Hirose on the shoulder, she quickly pulled out her cellphone, speed dialing the homicide department head. “It’s going to take some time to go through all the companies,” she murmured almost to herself as the phone rang. “I just hope we can find something before Kase gets another call.”

Both detectives returned to watching Ryouji as he left the weights for the treadmill, thoughts clearly somewhere else even as he cranked up the speed.

 

-

 

_“If you continue to behave nicely, Tora-kun, I might just change my mind.”_

That was what Wakahisa had said four days ago after the phone call that ended in disaster, and although Tora knew it was probably a lie—just the same ruse to get him to continue eating—it held a kernel of hope, and he clung all the harder for it. He felt like a toy, just a doll for the photographer to use and pose just so, but most of all he felt tired; a bone-deep exhaustion that had little to do with sleep. Logically, Tora knew that he wasn’t at fault for the situation. Part of him, however, had begun to whisper, _why don’t you fight? Why do you do whatever he wants? Aren’t you to blame, too?_

      Logically, Tora knew it wasn’t true. But for a while now, Tora had been losing touch with logic.

      “You’ve been so good, Tora-kun,” Wakahisa praised, draping the blanket low around the teen’s shoulders. “I’m glad. To be honest, after that little incident I was worried you’d become uncooperative, but you’re actually quite reasonable.”

      As usual he received no answer, and as usual he carried on, unaffected by the silence.

      The camera clicked softly and it suddenly occurred to Tora that he and Ryouji had never taken any pictures together. In fact, Tora didn’t think there were any pictures of him in that apartment at all. They had only gone on one date so far, and although they’d had plenty of sex, they’d never once slept together for real. Tora had yet to fall asleep and wake up to his uncle’s face, rough with morning stubble. He wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed before Ryouji shaved. He wanted to be the first thing Ryouji saw when he opened his eyes, and he wanted to become someone that made his uncle smile.

 _I’ve never seen him smile,_ Tora realized. His eyes stung and he shut them quickly, tightly. _Ryouji…_

_Why don’t you fight?_

      Biting the inside of his cheek, Tora opened his eyes. No more crying, and this time he’d stick to it. Tora was done crying, and he was done being played with. Screw hoping for his captor to _let_ him talk to Ryouji, and screw waiting to be rescued; Ryouji was trying his best to find Tora, and Tora was going to do his best to make that happen. Dropping his gaze to the cuffs, the teen inspected them slowly. With the photographer literally over his shoulder he couldn’t look as closely as he wanted to, but it was only a matter of time until he was alone.

_Tonight. Tomorrow. The day after. The sooner the better, but eventually, I’ll get out of here. I will._

_I’ll fight._

 

- 

      “Nothing.” Maya rubbed her face tiredly; she was settled across from Hirose, who had become a frequent presence in her apartment, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Sounds of water filtered from the bathroom, dampening the air. “We’ve had two days of nothing. And now I’m just waiting for that stupid phone to ring and him to disappear.”

      Ryouji’s partner stared down at the table, bitter disappointment written plainly across his face. While homicide had come up with a few results in the investigation of cab companies, each Saburou had checked out clean, which left them with fewer places to look and a growing sense of despair. The cop killer covered his tracks flawlessly and remained obscure; he was simply too good at what he did.

      “Why is he so obsessed with…this?” Hirose finally asked, at a loss.

      “The best theory our profiler could construct was that someone close to him was killed by a cop. It would certainly explain why he likes to target those closest to his victims.”

      Grim silence settled once again as the two detectives contemplated the extreme hatred driving their killer. Hirose opened his mouth, but before he could get the first word out a sharp ringing pierced the air. As one the detectives turned to the mobile sitting at the edge of the table, blood freezing in their veins, and suddenly Ryouji was there, a towel held one-handed around his waist. For a moment he simply stared at the phone, expression gaunt, torn between hunger and trepidation.

      The phone rang a second time, louder.

 

-

 

      The number was burning itself into Shibuya’s retinas, and he felt a strong sense of déjà vu. It was the fifth day, and the dark-haired teen was a stickler for promises, especially ones he had made to himself.

 _It’s just a phone call,_ he recited in his mind. _Just a phone call. It’s not like he’s suddenly become an alien; it’s still Tora. It’s Tora._

      Taking a quick breath, Shibuya pressed the button as he held the phone to his ear.

_It’s just Tora._

 

-

 

      Maya and Hirose held their breaths as Ryouji picked up the phone, cutting the third ring short.

 

-

 

      “ _Sorry, I can’t answer the phone right now. Uh, this is Teshi—_ ”

      A surge of relief flowed through Shibuya, quickly followed by shame as he dropped the phone. Was he really that scared to face Tora? No. He wasn’t, but he didn’t want to acknowledge the real problem, and so he treated it like fear.

      “Tora is your friend, dammit,” he scolded himself quietly, pressing the phone clasped in both hands to his forehead. “You’re his best friend.”

 _And he’s sleeping with his own uncle,_ whispered the voice of doubt. _How well do you really know him? How well do you really_ want _to know him anymore?_

      Shibuya shook his head as though that could dislodge the ill feelings that clung to him like oil.

      “Fuck,” he said plainly, looking up at the ceiling. “Fuck.”

 

-

 

      “What.”

      Ever since the night at the docks, Ryouji had been thinking about what move the cop-killer would make next, what his next demands would be. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he was prepared for any of the options, but he was prepared for something. What he wasn’t prepared for was…nothing.

      His two companions were watching him expectantly, waiting for a reaction, and so Ryouji did what he always did; masking his confusion with irritation, he demanded, “What do you want?”

      There was another pause before he received a reply.

      “Uh…” came an uncertain voice. “Uh…is this, um, is this Teshima’s phone?”

      “Yeah. Who the hell is this?”

      “I’m—Ishida.”

      “Who?” Ryouji snapped, irritation mounting.

      “Ishida Haruto, I’m his—I was his classmate—Teshima’s classmate, I mean. Is…is he there?”

      “No,” growled Tora’s uncle. “How’d you get this number? You his friend or something?”

      “I—I guess, I mean, yeah, I…guess, yeah?” Ishida was beginning to sound a little panicked at the interrogation he was getting, but before Ryouji could terrify him further the phone was suddenly plucked from his hand.

      “I’m sorry about that,” Maya interjected soothingly, turning her back as Ryouji glared at her incredulously. “Sorry, who did you say you are?”

      “Ishida Haruto,” Tora’s friend repeated nervously. “Look, I just—I just wanted to see if Teshima wanted to hang out, if there’s something going on I’m—”

      “Ishida-kun, when did you last see Teshima-kun?” Behind her, Hirose was working to keep a glowering Ryouji from snatching the phone back from the female detective, with moderate success.

      “W…when we got out of school,” the teen said, confused now. “Uh, a week ago? Little over a week?”

      “Did you notice anyone strange or suspicious hanging around?”

      “What? Why? What…did something happen? Is Teshima alright? Who are you?”

      “My name is Ueno Maya, I’m a police officer. I’m sorry, Ishida-kun, but do you think you could come to the station for a bit? Whenever you’re free will work.”

      “Police—hang on, what, what’s, what’s going on with Teshima?”  

      “Teshima-kun is currently missing,” the detective informed him, continuing, “But we’re doing everything in our power to find him.”

      There was a stunned silence, followed by, “Miss…missing?”

      “Yes. I’m very sorry, Ishida-kun.”

      “Wh…can I…you said you need me to come to the…the station?”

      “That’s right, whenever you have time.”

      “I-I’ve got time right now, I can…” Ishida trailed off, still digesting the news.

      “Alright, I’ll meet you there. Thank you for your cooperation, Ishida-kun.” Hanging up, Maya turned to face the two men. “He’s heading to the station right now. You guys are welcome to come along, but for the love of God, Kase, put some clothes on.”

      Glowering, Ryouji snatched the phone from Maya’s hand before returning to the bathroom, emerging half a minute later fully clothed and looking very begrudging—something Maya graciously ignored, jingling her keys at him.

      “Let’s go, boys.”

 

-

 

      Settled at a table, Ishida’s fingers twisted nervously together. The room was bare aside from the table and two chairs, occupied by himself and the woman across from him, leaving the two men to stand at either side of her.

      “When—when did he…?” the ginger-haired teen finally asked, brow furrowed in worry.

      “Friday night,” Maya supplied. “The same day the two of you got out of school. Tell me about that day, Ishida-kun—what do you remember? Is there anything that stood out to you as not normal?”

      “Uh…well, he…for the past few days he’d been kind of…really out of it, actually.” Thinking back, Ishida bit his lip in concentration. “We started eating lunch together ‘cause he wasn’t hanging out with Koike as much—uh, Koike Shibuya, they’re usually pretty tight, but...I dunno if something happened or what, I didn’t really want to be too nosy or anything. Oh, and he wasn’t walking to school anymore—I live sort of in the same direction so we’d walk together sometimes, but then…you started driving him.”

      Maya and Hirose both followed Ishida’s gaze to Ryouji, who nodded shortly.

      “Yeah,” acknowledged Tora’s uncle. “I’d drop him off and pick him up. Think I saw that Koike Shibuya kid once.”

      Facing the teenager again, Maya met his eye. “What about Friday specifically, Ishida-kun? What exactly happened when Kase came to pick up Teshima-kun?”

      “Um...nothing, I mean…like I said, Teshima was just really quiet, and then Kase-san came and got him.”

      Ryouji’s jaw clenched as he turned away in frustration, and Maya sighed softly.

      “I…I’m sorry,” Ishida said weakly. “I’m sorry, I want to help, I just…I can’t believe this, who would…”

      “That’s what I’d like to know,” Ryouji muttered darkly, and Hirose spoke up quickly.

      “It’s okay, Ishida-kun,” the smaller detective reassured him. “You’re trying. What about before Friday, was there anybody unfamiliar hanging around the school? It doesn’t matter when, before or after, maybe during lunch?”

      Ishida rubbed the back of his head, squeezing his eyes shut and scraping through his memories. “…There was a kind of weird guy,” he finally said tentatively, opening his eyes. “I don’t think he was following Teshima, though…”

      Immediately, Ryouji’s attention zeroed in on his nephew’s friend, and he leaned in to place a hand on the table. “Doesn’t matter. What did he look like?”

      With all three of the detectives staring at him intently, Ishida swallowed nervously. “Uh…he was sort of…average height, I guess, and wearing…pretty nice clothes? Not super fancy or anything, just…nice. He had a really expensive-looking camera with him, and, uh…he asked me to model for him, said I had nice hair or something…like I said, he was kind of weird.”

      “What’s his name?” demanded Ryouji.

      “I-I think…Wakahisa? I can give you his card, he gave me his card, it’s probably somewhere in my room,” Ishida hurriedly responded, looking between the three anxiously. “Do you…I mean, do you think it was him?”

      “We’ll have to see what he has to say before we can decide anything,” replied Maya, “but you’ve been a great help, Ishida-kun. Thank you.” Reaching over, she placed a hand on the teen’s wrist, looking at him earnestly. “Don’t worry, we’ll find Teshima and bring him home safe and sound. I promise.”

      As she spoke the last words, her gaze moved to Ryouji, whose every line of body was practically humming with energy. For the first time since his reckless stint at the docks, Ryouji felt like Tora was finally within reach, and Maya knew they had to be careful; she didn’t want to stonewall him from the investigation, but she also knew it would be risky to let him sit in on the interrogation. Although it might prove helpful to have some “encouragement” from someone as intimidating as Ryouji…

      Whoever this Wakahisa was and whatever part he played in the case, she pitied him if he stood between the detective and his nephew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gave me a lot of trouble, but I think I'm happy with how it turned out. Hopefully part II won't take as long. 
> 
> To everyone who has read even one chapter of this fic, thank you. Seeing that view count go up and getting supportive comments even when I was struggling really helped me get it done. I hope everyone will continue to enjoy this fic, and once again, thank you for reading.


	15. Update

      Hello everyone:

      I'm sorry that this isn't the chapter update you were hoping for, and I'm also sorry that I suddenly became inactive for a bit. Just recently I suffered a loss and am struggling with it, and that has made it difficult for me to focus like I used to. I would like to let you know that I have not stopped writing, however, as I still have a strong idea of where the story is going and an even stronger desire to finish it -- I simply won't be able to update as frequently as I was. 

      Thank you all so much for your patience and for your support.

      - Addie


	16. ii. Resolution (pt. II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had, and still have, a lot of frustrations with this chapter. I don't know if I think it's good or not and if I spend any more time on it I'll probably end up deleting the whole thing.
> 
> So, here it is. Sorry if there are any mistakes.

Sitting cross-legged on the futon, blanket shoved carelessly aside, Tora inspected the cuffs. By the time his captor had left the previous day it had been too dark to properly see the details of his bonds, and throughout the night the teen had only slept briefly and fitfully, anxious to investigate without the photographer watching his every move. Now, with early morning light pouring through the windows, Tora scrutinized every centimeter of the restraints around his wrists. As he had thought, the small, bar-like pieces of metal along the insides of the cuffs seemed to be the only possible way to remove them. Looking even closer, nose mere inches from his hands, Tora noticed that there were faint lines striping the metal.

 _Hinges?_ He wondered, but almost immediately dismissed the idea. _That can’t be right, there’s no way to open them that requires hinges. But maybe…_

     Struck by a new thought, Tora attempted to confirm his theory. No matter how he twisted his hands he could barely touch even the cuffs, but by putting pressure on the leather near the fastenings, the high schooler was able to spot some slight motion along the lines in the metal.

     “Must be loops,” he realized, mumbling the words aloud unconsciously. “So there’s gotta be some kind of…pin, or something…”

     Before he could test the fastenings any further, however, he heard the now-familiar sound of the door being unlocked. Dropping his hands, Tora hastily lay down; with the way the futon was positioned in relation to the ring he was cuffed to, it was impossible to lie with his back to the door, and Tora had wondered if his captor had done it intentionally.

     “Good morning, Tora-kun!” Came the cheery tone of Wakahisa. “I’ve brought you breakfast~”

     For a moment Tora debated feigning sleep, but decided against it. The photographer would rouse him anyway, and Tora hoped that the faster he ate the faster he would be alone again. Opening his eyes, the teen sat up slowly, not looking at his captor, the same as every other morning since he’d been kidnapped.

     “I hope you like _mentaiko shirasu 1_,” Wakahisa said, approaching the futon and kneeling in front of Tora.

     There was the quiet sound of a lid being popped off, then chopsticks snapping apart, and then Tora was being offered a bite of food. He took it, chewing mechanically. No matter how he had insisted that he could feed himself his protests were casually ignored, and now Tora didn’t even bother.

     “Did you sleep well? You look a little tired,” the photographer commented, content as always with carrying the conversation alone. “I’ve got a meeting with a client soon so I won’t be able to stay, but maybe you can take the time to nap and we can have a session after lunch—or maybe before dinner, the lighting will be nice then. What do you think, Tora-kun? I know I haven’t shown you any of the pictures yet, but they’ve turned out quite lovely, if I do say so myself.”

     Tora had stopped listening halfway through the second sentence. _Leave, leave, leave,_ he chanted internally, focusing solely on the food. _Hurry up and leave._

     “Speaking of lunch, though, is there anything you’d like to request, Tora-kun? Anything you want to eat or drink?”

     At first the teen continued to hold his silence, but then hesitated, wavering between his reluctance to speak and a sudden desire for something familiar.

     “S…strawberry milk,” he eventually said, still not looking at the man in front of him.

     Wakahisa was pleasantly surprised at the input, tilting his head. “Strawberry milk? Alright. Anything else? What about dinner?”

     But Tora was done talking, and the rest of the meal passed with Wakahisa chatting one-sidedly about nothing in particular. Finally, the last bit of rice was gone and Tora was given a few drinks of water.

     “I’ll leave this here in case you get thirsty, okay?” The photographer stuck a straw in the open bottle and set it within reaching distance of the teen. “It’s been getting hotter, and I don’t want you to get dehydrated.”

 _Just_ go _already!_ Tora willed forcefully.

     “See you later, Tora-kun~” Wakahisa waved as he headed for the exit.

     The door shut, and Tora counted to ten before focusing on the cuffs with an intensity.

 

-

 

     Early afternoon, Maya and Ryouji stood outside a small, yet upscale studio. Raising a fist, the female detective knocked, and after a few moments the door was opened by a pleasant-looking man with a camera in hand.

     “Good afternoon,” Maya began. “Are you Wakahisa Shouji?”

     “I am,” the photographer replied with a smile. “Who might you be?”

     “I’m Ueno Maya and this is my associate, Kase Ryouji—we’re with the police, investigating a kidnapping. We think you might be able to help.”

     “A kidnapping?” Surprised, Wakahisa looked between the two officers. “Oh dear. How can I help?”

     “Wakahisa-san, were you at the high school recently?”

     “Yes, yes I was. Why do you ask?”

     “What were you doing there?”

     “Taking scenic photos, mostly cherry blossoms.” The photographer smiled fondly at his camera before returning his gaze to the detectives in front of him. “They’re blooming very nicely this year, have you noticed?”

     “I haven’t, sadly,” Maya said; beside her, Ryouji remained silent. “Do you mind if I take a look at the pictures you took? I’d be interested to see what they were like.”

     “Of course, of course.” Stepping back, Wakahisa welcomed them inside, leading them to a small backroom filled with storage boxes.

     Grabbing a box close to the door, the photographer lead the way to a more spacious room furnished with two couches and a low table upon which he set the container before taking a seat. The man smiled as the detectives settled across from him and he lifted the lid, pulling out a few slim stacks of photos and spreading them out neatly for viewing.

     “Please, help yourselves.”

     “Thank you.” Going through the pictures, Maya took her time inspecting each one carefully, occasionally making small comments on the blooming flowers.

     Ryouji, on the other hand, stared wordlessly, eyes hard as they darted from one image to the next until finally, he found what he was looking for. Slowly, the male detective picked up a photo taken in front of the school gates; certainly the Sakura trees were the focus, but in the corner were two figures, one ginger and one light-haired. Maya glanced at his find, gaze flicking to his face to gauge his reaction. While not calm, he at least seemed to be in control, and so she returned to scanning the rest of the pictures. After a few more minutes she looked up, satisfied.

     “Thank you, Wakahisa-san,” she addressed the man. “They’re lovely photos.”

     “Thank _you_ , Ueno-san,” smiled the photographer. “Were they, ah, helpful? Your partner seems to find that one very interesting.”

     Maya eyed her companion again, but before she could respond, Ryouji spoke. “This kid. Do you recognize him?”

     Wakahisa leaned forward to look at photograph Ryouji held, studying the two high schoolers captured in film. “Mm…I’m not sure. Oh! Wait, his friend there, I remember him very well. He saved my camera from falling.” The man nodded approvingly at the memory. “Very good reflexes.”

     “What about this one? Do you remember anything about him?” Ryouji persisted.

     “Nothing out of the ordinary, I don’t think. School was getting out, so I assume he was going home?” Tilting his head curiously, Wakahisa met Ryouji’s eye. “Why? Who is he?”

     “My nephew,” Ryouji said quietly, intensely; his gaze bored into the photographer. “His name is Tora.”

     “Tora-kun? That’s a good name. Unfortunately I can’t say he’s familiar to me. I’m sorry.” Wakahisa’s brow furrowed in apology, but Tora’s uncle shook his head once, setting the photo down.

     “Don’t be. You’re being plenty helpful.” Ryouji’s tone had gained a threatening edge, and Maya quickly interjected.

     “Wakahisa-san, did you notice anyone suspicious hanging around? Maybe someone who seemed out of place, or was paying special attention to the students.”

     Tapping his chin, the photographer sighed sadly. “I’m afraid I can’t say…I don’t spend much time around the high school, so I wouldn’t recognize anyone strange even if I saw them. Really, I’m terribly sorry, I don’t seem to be of much help at all.”

     “Not at all, Wakahisa-san, you’re doing as much as you can. We’ll be sure to contact you if there’s anything else you can assist us with.”

     “Please do,” Wakahisa nodded agreeably. “And if I remember anything, I’ll let you know right away.”

     “Thank you.” Rising from her seat, Maya turned to Ryouji. “Let’s go, Kase.”

     Together the detectives left the studio, followed by a friendly farewell from the photographer. Once they were a good distance from the building, Maya shot her comrade a look.

     “What the hell was that about, Kase—” she started, but Ryouji cut her off, grabbing her arm.

     “It’s him,” the man growled, stance tense. “That lying son of a _bitch_.”

     Arching an eyebrow, Maya extracted herself from his grip. “What?”

     “He’s the fucker who’s got Tora,” Ryouji repeated, agitation growing.

     “And how do you know that?”

     “I recognize his voice, the way he says his name, it’s…” trailing off in memory, Ryouji growled again, hands clenching and unclenching.

     Taking a slow breath, Maya looked at her companion steadily. “I know you want to find him, Kase. So do I, so does Hirose-san, so does everyone involved in this case. But we can’t accuse people based on something like that.” After a beat, she added, “Especially if it’s coming from you.”

     Ryouji snarled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

     “You know exactly what it means. You’re too close to this; therefore your word is unreliable.”

     “Bullshit!” Running his hands through his hair, Tora’s uncle spun away, starting to pace. “That’s fucking _bullshit,_ I was the one on the fucking phone with that bastard, I heard him, _I_ _know_ what I fucking heard—”

     “Kase—Kase! I’m not ruling it out, okay? But if he is the partner we can’t just bring him in, we’ve got no evidence, and if he knows we’re on to him then we’ll never get any—these guys are too careful.”

     Glaring, Ryouji stopped his pacing. “Then put a detail on him.”

     “That’s what I was thinking,” placated Maya. “If he is involved, _if…_ then he’ll have to move some time. But you know you can’t be part of the detail yourself.”

     Ryouji made a disgusted sound, pacing again. “Yeah. I know. I can’t fucking do _anything_ , apparently.”

     “It’s for good reason, Kase,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead.

     The man simply grunted in response and Maya squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t like doubting Ryouji anymore than he liked it himself, but it was too dangerous to take him for his word. Sure, she’d been telling the truth when she said that everyone wanted to find Tora; however, the difference between them was that Ryouji was downright desperate. He would do anything to get his nephew back, and in their situation, that was the worst state to be in.

     “Alright. When we get back to the apartment I’ll call it in, but Kase…I need to know that you’re not going to try sneaking off as soon as I turn my back.”

     Ryouji’s lip curled as he glared at her. “Are you fucking serious?”

     “Of course I’m serious, after the last time—”

     “‘After last time’? You know what, you all need to stop shitting yourselves over ‘last time,’ nothing even fucking happened—”

     “For God’s sake, Kase, you were _shot_ —”

     “As if you give a flying fuck if I was shot—”

     “Oh, don’t _push_ me, asshole!” Maya yelled, finally losing her temper and jabbing a finger at Ryouji’s chest. “Of course I fucking care if you were shot! _Everybody_ cares, why the hell do you think they have me riding your ass 24/7?! Not to mention Hirose-san is worried sick about you, he’s all but sleeping at my place just so he can make sure you’re not about to lose it and get yourself shot in the _head!_ So all I want to know, Kase, is that you’re not going to do something monumentally _stupid_ and maybe finally trust us—kind of like how we’re trusting you instead of locking you up!”

     Throughout the tirade Ryouji remained stoic, gaze flinty and unwavering. Maya was just as unrelenting, jaw set stubbornly, and the clash of glares could have thrown sparks.

     “…I want to know what happens, when it happens,” Ryouji finally demanded, and Maya scoffed.

     “Are you always like this?” she asked in disbelief. “Someone asks a simple question where literally the only thing you need to say is ‘okay’, but instead you go off on your own little deal and—I just— _I_ almost want to shoot you, damn it!”

     Her hands grasping the air in frustration, Maya breathed deeply through her teeth, closing her eyes. Releasing her breath slowly, she squared her shoulders and met Ryouji’s stare anew.

     “Kase- _san_ ,” she started again, the politeness in her voice crisp and sharp. “Will you or will you not cooperate?”

     “As long as you don’t try to hide anything from me, I won’t go anywhere,” the man reiterated, obstinately pushing his own condition.

     “As if I could,” Maya replied, eyes turning skyward in exasperation. “You’re sleeping on my couch, you’ll be right there if I get a call.”

     “Good,” he said gruffly.

     “ _Good,_ ” she agreed, brushing past him in a brisk walk. “Now let’s go—the call isn’t going to make itself.”

 

-

 

     As soon as the detectives left the studio, Wakahisa calmly packed away the photographs and went out to his car, stopping by the convenience store before heading for the warehouse where Tora was being kept. On the way, he made a phone call.

     “Hello, Saburou-san?” The photographer asked as soon as his partner picked up. “I’m afraid that there’s been a slight development.”

     “What’s that supposed to mean?” Saburou asked warily.

     “Well, it seems the cops believe that I’m involved with Tora-kun, somehow. They treated me like a witness, but your target was there and he seemed suspicious—although he also seemed rather near his breaking point. It’s clever of you to let him suffer in silence, Saburou-san.”

     “Save the compliments,” sighed the cop killer. “And don’t get caught. I trust you, alright?”

     Wakahisa thought guiltily of the phone call he’d made for Tora. “I’m sorry, Saburou-san. I’ll be careful.”

     “I know.”

     Hanging up, Wakahisa drove the rest of the way throwing occasional glancing at his rearview mirror to see if he was being followed. He didn’t think that the cops could take action so quickly—he wasn’t even sure they’d take Tora’s cop friend seriously if he made any accusations—but he had just made a promise, and there was never harm in being too cautious. Arriving at the warehouse alone, the photographer released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

     “Tora-kun!” greeted Wakahisa as he opened the door, carrying the bag from the convenience store. “I brought you lunch, and I remembered your strawberry milk, too!”

     The high schooler was sitting up, torso twisted slightly and hands by his hip as he stared at the window on the other side of the building. Watching him curiously, Wakahisa went to the mini-fridge and grabbed a mikan and water bottle before bringing it all to the teen’s side.

     “What are you looking at, Tora-kun?” the photographer asked, pulling the strawberry milk and a pre-heated bento from the bag, along with a pair of chopsticks, which he snapped apart.

     Tora turned his head at the sound, glancing at the bento briefly before averting his gaze. Wakahisa waited a few beats before sighing.

     “Tora-kun, it’s alright to talk, you know,” he said patiently. “Nothing bad will happen because of a little conversation.”

     This time it was clear that Wakahisa was waiting for an answer; he hadn’t made any move to start lunch, simply kneeling by the futon in silence. Minutes passed. It was strange to Tora, having his captor in the same space but not saying anything. The photographer had always had something to talk about, always had questions to ask, and the abrupt muteness was beginning to make him uncomfortable.

     “…There was a bird.” Although Tora’s eyes were still fixed on the crumpled blanket at the foot of the futon, he could practically feel Wakahisa’s smile radiating in response.

     “A bird? Inside?” The man followed up, eager to encourage continuation. Tora shook his head. “Ah, well—just as well, I suppose. If it got trapped it wouldn’t have anything to eat, although we could feed it, couldn’t we?”

     The teen shrugged slightly, and Wakahisa seemed to accept the fact that he wasn’t going to get any more out of Tora. Busying himself, the photographer opened the bento and stuck the straw for the strawberry milk into the carton, then peeled the mikan.

     “What do you want to eat first, Tora-kun?” Wakahisa asked in another attempt to coax some words from his subject.

     Tora looked at the food, then made a small gesture towards the fruit. “That.”

     “Alright,” said the photographer, satisfied.

     He still insisted on feeding Tora himself, and as he offered mikan sections to the teen he returned to his familiar, one-sided chatter, quickly moving on to the bento. Tora tuned him out as usual, wondering how much time he’d have before dinner to continue working on the cuffs.

     “By the way, Tora-kun,” Wakahisa was saying, “Saburou-san might be coming around this evening.”

     Alarmed, Tora jerked his head up to look at his captor. “What?” Unconsciously, his hands curled into protective fists as he recalled what had happened the last time Saburou was there.

     “Oh no no!” rushed the photographer, making his tone as soothing as possible. “Not for something like that, Tora-kun, not at all! It’s just that I might not be able to make it to dinner, and I’d hate for you to go hungry.”

     Not feeling at all reassured, Tora couldn’t imagine his other kidnapper being the least bit interested in bringing him food, much less feeding him.

     “Saburou-san really isn’t all that bad, Tora-kun,” Wakahisa continued, noticing Tora’s look of doubt. “He’s very passionate, but he’s also quite reasonable—I think if you got to know each other a little more you’d get along just fine. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all be friends?”

     At first Tora couldn't believe what he'd just heard—horror welled up in the pit of his stomach at the idea, but simultaneously he was suddenly overcome with an anger he didn’t know he had.

     “ _Never_ ,” he spat, face pale and furious. The man who was holding him hostage suggesting that Tora could be _friends_ with his partner, the man who wanted to kill Ryouji? The thought sickened Tora so much that he could feel bile rising in his throat. Part of him wanted nothing more than to punch the man in front of him, and the other part just wanted him to disappear from Tora’s life.

     Realizing his mistake, Wakahisa winced. “Ah…I’m sorry, Tora-kun, I wasn’t—”

     “Shut up! I don’t want to listen to you!” Gone was the fearful high schooler; now, Tora was almost shaking with anger.

     “Tora-kun—”

     “ _No!_ ” The edges of Tora’s vision went red and Wakahisa hurriedly moved away as the teen kicked out at him, knocking over the water bottle and sending the strawberry milk spinning across the floor. “Get away from me! Get away, get out!”

     Opening his mouth again, the photographer thought better of it and remained silent. Instead, he picked up the now half-empty milk carton, put the lid on the unfinished bento, and set them both in the mini-fridge. Then he got some paper towels from the bottomless duffle bag and went about cleaning up the milk that had spilled. Tora seethed in silence, glaring hatefully as his captor slowly approached and picked up the water bottle. For a moment Wakahisa seemed to debate, but then he screwed off the lid, inserted a straw, and almost cautiously set it within reaching distance of Tora. The teen was tempted to kick it over, but pettiness wouldn’t convey the full weight of his anger, and he didn’t want the photographer hanging around any longer to wipe up the water.

     When Tora didn’t do anything, Wakahisa felt a small sense of relief. He wanted to ask if Tora wanted the rest of the strawberry milk, but didn’t want to aggravate his subject any more than he already had. Reluctantly the photographer began to walk away, regretful that Tora hadn’t been able to finish his lunch. _I’ll bring him something nice for dinner,_ he decided—there was certainly no chance that Saburou would be taking Wakahisa’s place now. If, after some time to cool down, Tora was still determined to hate him, then Wakahisa would use his trump card: another phone call to the cop. Though it would be risky, Wakahisa was willing to gamble.

     Reaching the door, the photographer just didn’t feel right leaving without saying anything. Turning slightly to look at the stormy teenager, Wakahisa spoke softly. “I’ll see you later, Tora-kun.”

     Then the door was closing and Tora wanted to scream and yell and curse, but it wouldn’t help anything, so he bit down on his rage and used it to focus. Pulling against the chain until the cuffs were as far down on his wrists as they could go, Tora threw himself into escaping with a vengeance.

 

-

 

     During the return trip, Wakahisa thought of things he could bring Tora for dinner. It would have to be something that he could safely transport in his car, so nothing too extravagant. _Okonomiyaki 2 _could be good, but he wasn’t sure what Tora liked and disliked, although he didn’t seem very picky and it would be a good way to incorporate all the good things Tora needed to stay healthy. He could also get more strawberry milk, since the other one had mostly spilled, and some sort of dessert.

     Driving past his home, the photographer was resigned to see a car parked discretely down the street. He had hoped—though not too much—that the police would simply overlook him, but it seemed that they were getting more desperate. Saburou had already successfully crossed three cops off his never-ending list, and two of the cases had involved casualties. Wakahisa couldn’t really blame them, but he did wish that they would have picked a better time. He’d have to spend quite a bit of time carefully losing the tail without being too obvious about it. With a sigh, the photographer headed for the store to pick up ingredients, noticing the car pull away from the curb to follow him after a prudent delay.

 _Tora will probably get a late dinner_ , he thought regretfully.

 

 

 

* * *

 _1_  A convenience store meal; spicy fish eggs over fish (niboshi, I think), vegetables, and rice.

      _2_ A kind of "pancake" with vegetables and meat, along with various toppings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryouji would have kicked the water bottle.


	17. iii. Resolution (pt. III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for disappearing again. To be truthful, I haven’t been in a good place emotionally. For the past few months I’ve been having a lot of conflicting feelings regarding myself and this story. On one hand I genuinely love this series and the characters, but at the same time I started feeling a lot of loathing and disgust for myself and my work. I felt like shit when I tried to write and I felt like shit having not written, and it was just turning into a really shitty cycle. 
> 
> I’m getting help now, though, and I still want to finish this story. I won’t say that I’m putting it on hiatus because then I really might not finish it, but updates will continue to be painful and slow. As always, thank you everyone who has read and supported What We Lack—truly, thank you.

      The skin of Tora’s wrists was chaffed and stinging, but he continued to twist and pull his hands against the cuffs, teeth grit stubbornly. A while ago the inside of the leather had started feeling damp, from sweat or blood he wasn’t sure and he didn’t want to find out. Tora had never really liked pain _or_ blood, and part of him was already regretting his chosen method of escape. There hadn’t been any other option, though; the cuffs were perfectly designed so that the person wearing them couldn’t even touch the pins, and the metal yielded no traction for his teeth.

_Ryouji wouldn’t have a problem with this,_ Tora goaded himself. _He probably would have done this days ago—in fact, he probably wouldn’t even_ be _in this situation!_

      Baring his teeth in frustration, Tora yanked violently against the cuffs—and was rewarded by a burning sensation as one of the cuffs slipped a few centimeters down his hand, tearing his skin.

      “Ow…!” Biting down on his lip, Tora blinked rapidly.

      It hurt. It _really_ hurt, salty sweat stinging the raw skin, and every shift made the leather—which suddenly felt rough and sharp—scrape against the wound, which was, he noticed belatedly, bleeding. But he’d done it—

_No,_ the teen mentally berated, _I’ve_ almost _done it, but I’m not free yet._

      Doing his best to ignore the pain by summoning up the image of his uncle’s stupid, glaring face, Tora continued to yank against his bonds. It didn’t help that every instinct to prevent pain was getting in the way by making him flinch and pull a little less hard than he needed to, and every so often a hiss of air would escape him.

_Come on! The quicker you get out, the less it’ll hurt in the long run!_

      Steeling himself, the teen took a deep breath, held it for a moment—then threw his entire weight back, forcing his hand closest to release to stay relaxed and loose. It felt like the leather had grown miniscule hooks that gripped and ripped at his skin in an attempt to keep him bound, but Tora only twisted his wrist in response, wriggling his one hand as best he could. It was too tight and it burned and he couldn’t even feel any progress being made until suddenly his hand flew free, sending him reeling off-balance.

      “Whoa!” he yelped, arm flailing as his body attempted to sprawl back with the momentum while his still-cuffed wrist jerked him to a stop.

      For a moment Tora could only stare at his now free hand, panting. He’d actually done it. His skin was torn and rubbed raw and blood was trickling down his arm, but he’d done it. And then he heard the quiet rumble of an engine and his head whipped towards the door.

_No._

      A car door slammed shut—

_no no no no no_

      —and Tora scrabbled at his trapped hand but his fingers were shaking too much and he broke out in a cold sweat—

_no no no NO_

      —and the door swung open and the teen couldn’t stop himself from looking up, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

      “Tora-kun, I—” Wakahisa started, but stilled when he saw his subject, one hand bloody and free of restraint.

      In an instant the photographer dropped what he was holding and was moving forward swiftly with a reproachful "Tora-kun,"while Tora froze in panic, and then all hell broke loose.

 

-

 

_       TWENTY MINUTES PRIOR _

      They were persistent, he’d give them that. Wakahisa had left for the warehouse earlier than usual, predicting it would take him a while to lose his unwanted company, but it was surprisingly more difficult than he’d thought it would be. At first he tried to be subtle about it, not wanting to let on that he knew he was being followed but now the photographer was starting to think that he’d have to take more drastic measures if he wanted to be able to get Tora’s dinner to him in a timely manner.  

      “I suppose there’s no helping it,” he sighed to himself.

      Pulling past a large truck, Wakahisa abruptly turned at the next intersection, swerving in front of the truck without signaling. The horn blared at him and the photographer felt a twinge of annoyance. He wouldn’t have needed to pull such an unpleasant move if the cops weren’t so damn paranoid. Really, it wasn’t like they were suspicious of _everyone_ who’d been at the school that day, so why couldn’t they have just left him alone? And now that he’d quite obviously and deliberately lost the tail he’d look even more suspicious. Of course, he could always make the excuse that he hadn’t known they were with the police or that he’d almost missed his turn and panicked, but even if they believed him, there would be no way for him to pull a stunt like this again. As much as Tora hated the idea, having Saburou take over care-taking duties seemed to be becoming increasingly unavoidable.

      “Sorry, Tora-kun,” Wakahisa murmured under his breath. “You’ll just have to bear with it…”

 

-

 

      “Son of a bitch!”

      The driver of the tail slammed his foot on the brakes as Wakahisa’s car disappeared around the truck, while his partner’s hands slammed against the dashboard to keep his head from meeting the same fate. Luckily there weren’t any cars close behind them but the sound of horns filled the air regardless.

      “Son of a bitch,” the driver cursed again, turning as soon as the truck had passed in hopes of catching a glimpse of the photographer’s car. “That son of a bitch pulled quick one!”

      “He couldn’t have gotten far,” the partner said, eyes darting across the traffic in front of them. “There! Is that him?”

      “Can’t see the plate,” the driver cursed. “And if he sees us again you can bet your ass he’s not going to lead us to the vic. Shit! Call the boss, tell him what’s going on.”

      “Yeah,” his partner confirmed, hand diving into his pocket. Mid-way through dialing, though, he leaned forward to peer ahead. “Wait—isn’t Ueno’s place in this direction? If he keeps going this way, he’ll probably drive right past it!”

      “Then call Ueno first, tell her to pick up the tail if she can!”

 

-

 

      “Kase, _please,_ ” Maya said tightly, fingertips at her temples, “Stop hovering by the door. Just stop. I feel like you’re about to go charging out as soon as I look the other way. We’ll get a call if anything happens, so just…sit down.”

      Hirose, who had once again invited himself over to the female cop’s apartment, didn’t quite nod in agreement, but it was all over his fervent expression. Looking between the two, Ryouji’s glare could have cut the couch in half, but eventually he moved stiffly over to a chair and lowered himself onto the edge of it. About five seconds passed before his knee started bouncing, heel thumping a quick rhythm into the carpet. Maya took a deep breath and reached for her coffee—and very nearly knocked it over when a cell phone trilled sharply.

      Immediately her eyes jumped to Ryouji, but he was staring at her with such intensity it was like he was trying to set her on fire, and that’s when she realized it was _her_ phone ringing. Quickly she grabbed it, not even checking to see who it was.

      “Ueno,” she said shortly.

      “He tried to ditch us,” came the equally short reply. “We think we’ve got eyes on him but we can’t be sure—assuming it is, and if he keeps going the way he’s headed, he’ll be by you in a few minutes.”

      The voice listed several street names and Maya repeated them out loud for confirmation. “Got it.”

      The homicide detective was on her feet before she even hung up, but Ryouji had already beaten her there. Hirose hastily stood as well, looking between the two but mostly at his suspended partner, concern heavy in his eyes and unease in his stance.

      “They found him?” Ryouji demanded urgently. His expression was that of a starving man’s, and Maya’s mouth pressed into a grim line.

      “No.” Striding past him, she grabbed her keys from the table. “Wakahisa’s trying to slip the tail, but he’s in the area so we’re going to assist. I won’t waste time fighting you on whether you stay or not, _but,_ ” and here she spun, levelling a finger at Ryouji before he could get to the door, “you have to promise me, Kase, you have to swear on whoever’s honor is necessary—you will _not_ do anything stupid! Do _not_ let your feelings get the better of you. Tora’s not the only one in danger, and you have to remember that!”

      Her tone was fierce and brooked no argument, and Ryouji, who had been preparing himself to use whatever means necessary to make sure he wasn’t left behind, couldn’t even summon up a retort in his exhausted, jittery state and simply jerked his head in a nod.

      “I’m coming too,” Hirose said determinedly, although he faltered slightly as Maya turned her gaze to him. “I mean, I am, right?”

      “Of course,” granted Maya, swinging open the door.

_If only so you can help hold him back if anything happens,_ said the look she gave him as they walked out.

      Not two minutes later they spotted him. Maya, with Ryouji in the passenger seat and Hirose in back, had chosen to loiter near a four way stop sign in order to optimize their chances of catching sight of him, and everyone was on edge. A car appeared in the distance behind them and Maya tensed as her eyes darted to the rearview mirror.

      “I think that’s him.” Pulling forward, she made sure that they were under the speed limit just enough for the other car to catch up, but not so much that it would be suspicious. Hirose struggled with the urge to twist around in his seat while Ryouji checked his side mirror.

      “…That’s him.”

      The words were very nearly a snarl, and for a moment Maya felt a flash of trepidation at her decision to let Ryouji accompany them before shoving it aside mentally. _It wouldn’t have been worth it,_ she reminded herself. _Even if I’d locked him in there he would’ve broken out somehow, and he’s safer with us than running around by himself._

      They continued the strange reverse-tailing until eventually Wakahisa’s car turned off onto a different street, and Maya wasted no time in doubling back. The photographer hadn’t gotten very far and she allowed some more distance and a few other vehicles to come between them. Most likely he was feeling pretty confident after losing the first tail and wouldn’t suspect that they’d be able to throw together such a coincidental and slapdash second tail, but the fact that he’d been aware of the first one meant that he was observant, and it was better to be safe than sorry. Besides, with the way Ryouji’s eyes were glued to car ahead of them, Maya was almost convinced that he would develop x-ray vision just to keep it in sight.

      Suddenly the car turned, heading towards a less traffic-heavy area, and Maya grunted in irritation. When there were only a few cars a tail would be that much more obvious, but she couldn’t very well not follow him. Following his turn, she slowed down even further, keeping a very healthy distance between the two vehicles. There were no attempts shake them off, though, and Maya suspected that he had become too focused on his destination. Finally Wakahisa’s car pulled off by a small cluster of unused warehouses and Ryouji leaned forward in his seat, anticipation rolling off him in waves. Maya eyed him as she came to a stop a good distance away from the photographer’s goal.

      “Kase,” she warned, pulling out her cellphone. “Keep it together.” Quickly she called her boss, informing him of the situation and where they were before hanging up as Wakahisa got out of his car and headed for a warehouse.

      “Alright,” she said, turning slightly to include Hirose. “Here’s how it’s going to go. Kase—”

      But Ryouji was no longer listening; as soon as the photographer disappeared into the warehouse Tora’s uncle was out of the car and moving for the building with frightening determination.

      “Fuck!” Maya hissed, jumping out of the car in pursuit, pulling her gun from its holster and neglecting to shut the door rather than risk Wakahisa hearing the slam. “Fuck shit, that idiot—!”

      Hirose was right behind her, his own gun drawn but held at his side, and the two caught up to Ryouji just as he reached the door which, for some reason, had been left open.

_I am going to_ kick his ass _when this is over,_ Maya thought furiously and, shoving Ryouji back, stepping unhesitatingly into the warehouse with her gun raised.

      “Police! Don’t move!”

 

-

 

      Tora’s mind was screaming as the photographer crossed the distance between them in long strides, but he seemed to have lost all control of his vocal cords and could only struggle uselessly against his last restraint. Hadn't Wakahisa arrived earlier than usual? Or had Tora really taken so long to get one hand free? This wasn't supposed to be happening!

      Suddenly someone’s voice rang out, cutting through the panicked confusion that was Tora’s thoughts, and his gaze snapped up to see a woman step through doorway and—behind her, was that—?

      Just as abruptly, Wakahisa’s swift but placating approach transitioned smoothly into one of a hunter realizing he’d been caught. His hand plunged into his pocket for the small knife that Tora knew was always there and before the teen could move the photographer had slid behind him, arm around Tora’s upper torso, pinning his arms and trapping him between Wakahisa and the intruders. A cold, thin pressure appearing at Tora’s neck, but Tora almost didn’t notice, his breath being stolen for an entirely different reason: behind the woman, looking worn but possessed with fury at the sight in front of him, stood Ryouji.

      “Oh dear,” Wakahisa tisked, sounding entirely too calm. “It seems we have some uninvited company, Tora-kun.”

      “R…Ryou…?” croaked Tora in disbelief.

      “ _Tora!_ ”

      And it was Ryouji’s voice, flooding Tora with relief and— _No,_ Tora realized, his elation shattering as the situation crashed through his shock. _No, this is bad—this is worse than bad…!_ Starting to struggle, Tora scrabbled at Wakahisa’s arm with his free hand, but froze as the pressure at his neck increased. He didn’t dare to even swallow, breath stopping altogether.

      “ _You son of a bitch, don’t touch him!”_

      “Hirose-san, please remove Kase from the premise!” Maya ordered harshly, blocking Ryouji’s way even as he took a step forward, but her gaze never wavered from the hostage situation in front of her.

      “Actually,” interrupted the unflustered Wakahisa, “I’d much prefer than all of you remain in sight. I must admit I’m surprised; I didn’t think you’d put a double tail on me with no evidence.”

      “Let him go, Wakahisa,” Maya demanded. The gun was steady in her hands. “Don’t make this any worse for yourself.”

      “I can’t do that!” replied the photographer with a laugh. “That would terribly selfish of me, don’t you think, Tora-kun?”

      “ _Bastard—!!_ ”

      “Kase, _shut up!_ ” barked Maya.

      “Alternatively, I don’t suppose there’s any chance of letting me escape? With Tora-kun, of course,” Wakahisa continued.

      “Not in hell,” Maya replied.

      “That’s what I thought,” sighed the kidnapper. His hold on Tora shifted slightly as though preparing for something, and he addressed the teen suddenly. “Ahh, for some reason I feel a little sad—reflecting on my actions, I really wish I could at least apologize to him for messing up.”

      “Wakahisa,” Maya said calmly, “Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t. Just let him go and nobody has to get hurt.”

      “I don’t know,” Wakahisa mused. “That sounds a little boring. But, what do you think about a double-suicide, Tora-kun?”

      Tora’s eyes widened as he felt his captor’s body tense, and he grabbed for Wakahisa’s arm again as the knife bit into his skin but knew that he wouldn’t be able to do anything—people were yelling again but he couldn’t understand what they were saying, and regret flooded through him as he wished he’d tried to escape sooner because maybe then this wouldn’t have happened and Ryouji, _Ryouji_ —

      There was a loud sound, like someone had punched a large sheet of metal or torn through the very air itself, and Wakahisa’s body jerked unnaturally. Tora could feel something flick across the side of his face. A shocked silence followed. Tora was aware of a stinging sensation on his neck, but he could breath. Slowly, not sure what had happened and unable to stop himself, he began to turn his head.

      “Tora— _Tora, stop!_ ”

      Ryouji was shouting and running towards him, but all Tora could see was Wakahisa’s leg folded beneath itself, his arm splayed out slightly beside his body with an open hand, relaxed, like he’d just lain down after a long day, but out of the corner of his eye Tora saw his face and his nose was bleeding and—

      “Tora!” Ryouji grabbed his nephew roughly, pulling him into his chest with one arm locked around his shoulders and his other hand holding Tora’s head so that he couldn’t look around. Behind the two, Maya turned to stare at Hirose—she’d been on guard for whatever crazy plan Ryouji might have tried, but she never would have expected his partner to be the one to put a bullet through Wakahisa’s head.

      Tora felt that he was about to throw up. Nausea made his vision spark and swim and he could feel his throat clench, but then he was enveloped by Ryouji, face pressed against his uncle’s shoulder, his scent wrapping around him and brushing everything else away and it suddenly hit him with a jarring sensation that he was alive and Ryouji was there. Ryouji had found him. And then a sob burst from Tora and he dimly wondered why he was crying. _I’m not sad,_ he thought, hands lifting only for one of them to be jolted to a halt by the cuff still holding it while the free one dug into his uncle’s back, clinging. He still tried again and again to lift his other hand, finally settling for gripping the bottom of Ryouji’s shirt. _I’m not sad. I’m not._

      “Get that—use this, cover him up,” Ryouji instructed, refusing to release his hold on Tora and jerking his chin at the blanket while his eyes indicated the prone form of Wakahisa.

      Maya quickly stepped forward, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over the body of the photographer, and Ryouji spared a quick glance for Hirose. His partner was pale, but holding up well, expression one of someone who knew they had done something terrible but necessary. He didn’t regret his actions, and neither did Ryouji.

      The only thing he regretted was that he hadn’t been able to do it himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had the headcanon of Hirose being a crack shot for a while.


	18. iv. Resolution (pt. IV)

      The following events were a blur to Tora. Exhausted from the rollercoaster of terror, excitement, and bad sleep over the last ten days—but especially the most recent hours—the teen had finally allowed himself to relax, all but melting in his uncle’s hold as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He vaguely remembered being driven somewhere, head resting against the cool glass of the window, but not getting in the car; he could recall there being more people, voices and questions and giving mumbled answers and Ryouji growling, but not the words; a doctor’s room, but not the doctor.

      And now he was sitting slumped on a bench in the police station, the wrapping on his finger refreshed with the addition of a bandage on his left wrist and a gauze patch taped to his throat. Suddenly realizing that Ryouji wasn’t in the vicinity, Tora jolted upright, looking around frantically.

      “R—” he started, panicked, but then broke into a coughing fit, throat uncomfortably dry. He couldn’t remember the last time he drank something.

      Seemingly appearing from thin air, Ryouji was by Tora’s side in an instant. “Hey, hey. Take it easy.”

      “Ryouji?” Tora asked weakly.

      “Here.” A paper cup was pushed into his hand as his uncle took a seat beside him. “You said you were thirsty.”

      “I…did I…? Er—no, I mean…thanks.” Shaking his head slightly as though hoping to clear the fog from his mind, Tora took a sip, then a longer drink, surprised by how thirsty he really was. When he lowered the cup, it was empty. “Thanks…”

      “You said that already.”

      But Ryouji’s voice was quiet and after a moment his hand came up to rest on the back of Tora’s neck, and Tora knew that his uncle knew what he’d meant. Without really intending to, Tora leaned into him, eyes closing against a fresh welling of tears. After another moment the older man’s hand slid across his shoulders, draping comfortably. He was so warm…

      Distantly, Tora heard a voice.

      “You and your nephew should stay here, Kase. It’s not a good idea for the two of you to be on your own yet, and the station is safer than your apartment. We’ll set up a couple of the couches.”

      “Fine.”

      “Probably want to see about getting Teshima-kun to a counselor, too. You, Ueno, and Hirose have already been referred for a psych assessment.”

      Tora felt it as Ryouji grunted.

      There was a pause in the conversation and Tora could feel himself drifting, their words coming from farther and farther off.

      “…Even after we catch this guy, your suspension will hold for another couple weeks.”

      Tora’s brow furrowed—or at least, he thought about it furrowing. Ryouji was suspended?

      “Yeah.”

      “That easy?”

      “I knew what I was doing.”

      A sigh. “And that’s the problem…” Another pause. “You’re a good cop, Kase. You don’t just charge into things like an idiot, you use your head. But when you charge into things like an idiot _despite_ using your head…then that just makes it worse.”

      In the following silence Tora struggled to pull his drifting thoughts together, but was already too far gone. _Gotta remember…_ he thought dimly to himself, _ask Ryouji…_

      And then he was lost to the world, dreamlessly.

 

-

 

      The next day, he was brought in: Adachi Saburou, 41-years-old, working as a mailman. Tora had easily recognized him from behind the one-way mirror. The teen had expected capture to make him smaller, somehow, but the stocky, broad-shouldered build and square jaw remained intimidatingly strong, and his expression was as emotionless as when he’d ripped Tora’s nail off. Although his former captor couldn’t see him, Tora’s hand curled unconsciously, bandaged finger pressed defensively into his palm. Wakahisa’s casual cheer had disturbed him plenty, but Saburou’s complete lack of _anything_ made him feel dead cold and helpless, even now. Giving a nod, Tora was allowed to leave the observation room.

      Ryouji’s gaze was on him immediately as he appeared in the doorway and Tora nodded again to let him know they’d got the right guy, but that wasn’t what his uncle was looking for. It took the detective only a few seconds to notice his nephew’s tense shoulders, clenched hand, and quick step in retreating from the room—along with the teen’s swift, instinctive glance over his shoulder. It was a lingering fear, the irresistible urge to make sure that Saburou hadn’t escaped, wasn’t coming after him, and when he turned back around Ryouji’s eyes were burning with undisguised loathing for the man in the room. At his nephew’s expression Ryouji, not wanting to betray his own roiling emotions, was quick to drop his gaze, only to step forward and stand protectively close to Tora, all but bumping into him.

      “Let’s get out of here,” the older man instructed gruffly. “We can eat somewhere on the way home.”

      Tora nodded mutely, feeling a surge of relief. He didn’t like being in the same building as his kidnapper, and he especially didn’t like the way Ryouji’s anger seemed to have grown rather than abated at Saburou’s arrest. Through hushed chatter in the station, Tora had learned about Saburou. The man had had a successful high school career with a bright future ahead; on the other end of the spectrum, his older brother had seemed doomed to failure. Regardless of their differences, however, the two had been close, with Saburou often helping his brother out when situations became tight and trying his best to put together a better life for him. But despite his determination, eventually his brother simply got in too deep. In a terrible occurrence of “wrong time, wrong place,” Saburou’s brother was killed in a police raid. He’d been unarmed, almost a bystander, but the people he’d become involved with were dangerous and the police had taken no chances. Saburou had reacted like any distraught family member would have, demanding that the detectives responsible be suitably punished. They were not, and that was apparently the end of the matter.

      Only it hadn’t been. In the following years Saburou had carefully planned his revenge before striking suddenly, viciously, and in succession. Five members of the police fell victim to him, along with whichever loved one had been used as bait, until just as suddenly Saburou had moved on. Perhaps he’d been close to being found out; perhaps he’d gotten bored. Whatever the reason, he’d moved on to the next city where he’d claimed only one life: The head of the police department. In yet another city his next series of victims, a total of three detectives, had been his last, with Ryouji being the failed fourth target.

      To think that someone had become so consumed with revenge made Tora feel sick inside, all the way from his stomach to his chest until his head ached. So many innocent lives had fallen like dominoes: Starting with one, and the rest toppling as a reaction stemming from one man’s personal vendetta. Tora had accepted that, much like Hirose had done, his uncle might have to one day take a life to save his own or another’s—or that he may have already—but he never, ever wanted him to seek it out like Saburou had done. He never wanted killing to become Ryouji’s reason for living.

 

-

 

      At the little family restaurant Ryouji had chosen, Tora headed straight for a secluded booth near the back, with Ryouji following in silent agreement. The silence continued mutually even after they sat, disturbed only when the two ordered and when the waiter returned with their food. Finally, picking idly at the meal he’d chosen at random, Tora addressed his uncle.

      “I overheard…about your suspension.”

      Ryouji remained stoic, his own food untouched. “Thought you were asleep during that?”

      “I was. I mean, not completely, but I was falling asleep and then…” Tora trailed off before he rambled away from his original question. “So it’s true? Why?”

      Ryouji looked away, jaw working in what Tora thought might be annoyance. “…They didn’t want me on the case. Since it was personal.”

      “Oh.”

      He was lying. The excuse itself sounded reasonable, but… Maybe it was the fact that Ryouji simply didn’t lie; sure, he’d neglected to tell Tora things in order to conceal information, but he’d never actually _told_ a lie. Tora couldn’t explain how, but he knew that in this moment, Ryouji was at least not telling the full truth. Debating on whether or not to push the issue, Tora decided to wait until they were back at the apartment. Maybe Ryouji would respond better in the privacy of his home.

      Not that that privacy had been very secure. Tora could see, suddenly, the shadow in the doorway, feel an immovable weight pinning him down, a stinging ache in his hand…

      “Tora.”

      Looking up, Tora found anchorage in his uncle’s dark eyes. Although he still felt chilled and shaky, and his chopsticks shivered quietly against the booth as he set them down, the teen shoved the memories away and tried to focus.

      “I’m okay,” he said, but his mouth was gummy with sudden dryness, and the words were uncertain.

      As always, Ryouji was having none of it. “Let’s go. We can take the leftovers.”

      Tora looked as his food, not even half-finished; across the table, Ryouji still hadn’t taken a bite. Without knowing the reason for them, Tora suppressed a sudden surge of tears and nodded. With nowhere else to go, the tears settled heavily in the pit of his stomach as the waiter packed up their food, thanks them for their business, and invited them to come again.

      Driving home was a mute, uneventful affair, but the closer they got the more surreal things began to feel for Tora. Looking at it all in retrospect, everything just seemed absurd. The coinciding of his own hastily planned escape and the miraculous rescue was bordering on too-good-to-be-true—and how had they found him? What were the chances of…well, _any_ of it happening, really. Had he even been kidnapped at all, or had it all just been a very wild, very crazy dream?

      The car slowed, pulling up to the apartment building, and Tora glanced at his uncle. He seemed real enough as he unbuckled, tucking the keys in his pocket and grabbing his to-go container. Tora followed suit, trailing after Ryouji, up familiar stairs to a very familiar door. For some reason Tora expected the inside of the apartment to be different, even if in just a small way—a scar left from the horrible intrusion that had occurred—but it was very nearly unchanged since the last time he’d seen it, which was almost more shocking.

      “You kept it clean.” Tora spoke this thought automatically, surprised at how normal he sounded.

      “I didn’t stay here.”

      Surprised again, Tora turned to really look at his uncle. Ryouji looked…tired. The teen didn’t know if he’d slept at the station, only assumed that he must have, but now he wasn’t so sure. There was a shadow of stubble across Ryouji’s jaw from a morning without a proper bathroom, more shadows smeared beneath his eyes, and his face was pale upon closer scrutiny. He hadn’t eaten at the restaurant, and Tora suddenly wondered when he _had_ eaten last. An uncomfortable feeling of fear prickled inside him and Tora quickly slipped his shoes off. When had he gotten his shoes? A vague memory of an officer bringing them to him surfaced, but it retained a dream-like quality, much like the rest of his memories after the rescue. Stepping inside, Tora headed towards the kitchen.

      “The food’s still warm,” he said over his shoulder, setting his takeout box on the table. “I can make some tea to go with it, or do you want coffee?”

      For a moment Ryouji was silent, statuesque in the entryway, but then he seemed to snap out of it, toeing off his own shoes. “Sure.”

      “Coffee?” Tora reconfirmed, already getting the pot ready.

      “Yeah.”

      Busying himself as much as he could with preparing the drink, Tora emerged in a matter of minutes to find Ryouji sitting at the table, brooding. Tora took his seat across from his uncle, sliding the mug towards him and opening his own take-home meal. Disposable chopsticks had thoughtfully been included with the restaurant leftovers, and, snapping his apart, Tora began to eat despite not feeling the least bit hungry. He was hyper-aware of the fact that Ryouji hadn’t even touched his container of food. The mug of coffee steamed slowly on the table, and the detective’s gaze had become lost in the vapor. Tora wracked his brain for something to say, anything, and was dismayed to find he couldn’t come up with a single thing. There was a distinct lack, and Tora’s stomach began to twist into knots; he didn’t know what or from whom, but something was missing. Emptiness loomed, and Tora felt himself disconnecting. Across from him Ryouji was turning to impenetrable stone once again. Desperation made him open his mouth.

      “This is really good. Want to try some?” Tora could taste his own lie more than he could taste the food, voice thin and insubstantial and pierced with a note of pleading. He wondered if Ryouji could even hear him.

      Apparently he had, because after a moment in which Tora’s heart stopped, the older manned stirred, looking up mechanically. For the first time, he seemed to breathe.

      “…Nah,” he finally said. “I’ve got my own.”

      And then he was opening his colorful to-go box and breaking apart his chopsticks. The crisp sound was the best that Tora had ever heard, and when his uncle took a bite the teen could have sobbed in relief. He almost did, choking slightly as he swallowed.

      “Careful,” Ryouji warned, tone blessedly irked. “Don’t eat so fast.”

      Tora suddenly realized the food in his mouth was delicious, and that he was famished.

      “I’m hungry,” he said, voice a bit rough from his recent choking. “Give me some of yours.”

      Ryouji snorted. “No—if you’re that hungry, make something for yourself.”

      About to reply, Tora cleared his throat instead and had to settle for stealing a drink of his uncle’s coffee. It burned pleasantly in his throat and chest as Ryouji grabbed the mug from him.

      “Don’t take my coffee, you little shit,” he growled.

      Tora grinned; it was weak, and both of them knew it, but it was real. “I made it.”

      Something in the air seemed to relax and Ryouji kicked his foot beneath the table. “Smartass. My mug, my coffee. Go get your own.”

      “But I don’t wanna get up.”

      “You’ll have to get up when I kick your ass.”

      “Come on, sharing is caring!”

      “No.”

      Futilely, Tora reached across the table, Ryouji easily pulling the mug out of reach until Tora was almost laying on the surface.

      “Just one more sip!”

      “So you say. No means no.”

      “Ryouji~,” whined Tora, drawing out the last syllable. Seeing that his uncle was unaffected, he switched tactics. “Fine, then I’ll take this!” Making a swipe at the box of takeout, Tora was thwarted at the last moment as Ryouji’s free hand came down to trap the container in place.

      “Think you’re bein’ sneaky, huh?” Ryouji taunted.

      Suddenly, the hilarity of it all caught up to him, and a giggle escaped Tora before he could suppress it.

      “Ryouji,” he started, “Ryouji, please, I’m seriously hungry—” But his laughter continued to grow until he could hardly speak. His head thumped gently onto the table as he shook, silent, laughingly, one hand still stretched out for the coffee mug.

      Ryouji watched, his expression gradually thawing into something softer. Tora gasped for air and his breath hitched; his eyes felt warm and his lashes were wet, and he realized he was probably crying but still he continued to laugh. A familiar hand settled in his hair and with it a blanket of exhaustion seemed to cover his entire body. The loss of consciousness he’d experienced at the station could hardly qualify as sleep. Getting his breath back, a mixture of giggles and hiccups continued to escape Tora for another minute until even they faded and the teen was left breathing, slowly and steadily. Eventually, Tora was the one to break the silence.

      “Ryouji?”

      “Yeah.”

      “I’m tired.”

      “Yeah.”

      “I don’t want to take a bath.”

      “Take it tomorrow.”

      “No. I haven’t taken a bath today, or last night.”

      “Thought you didn’t want to take one?”

      “I do. But I’m tired.”

      “Whatever. Do what you want.”

      A pause. “Ryouji?”

      “Yeah?” When he receive no response for several minutes, Ryouji shook Tora’s head slightly. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on the table.”

      “I won’t.” After another few seconds, Tora sat up, Ryouji’s hand falling away. “I’m gonna go take a bath.”

      “Don’t drown.”

      “I know. Maybe if you gave me some coffee…”

      “Get out of here, you little—”

      With a short laugh, Tora was on his way, stopping briefly in his room before moving into the bathroom with fresh clothes. Over the running water, he imagined he could hear the sounds of Ryouji moving around.

      Not able to wash thoroughly due to his bandages, Tora sat soaking in the heat and breathed in the smell of home.

 

-

 

      Later than night, Tora lay awake—of course. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy, to simply move on. Trauma didn’t work that way, and while he knew that, some part of him had hoped, prayed, that laughing with Ryouji would have been enough to drive it all away. Hyodo, after all, had certainly been a traumatic experience; the difference, however, was that Hyodo had quickly been overpowered by the shock of Ryouji’s actions following the incident. Not to mention that Hyodo had lasted a whirlwind of minutes—terrifying, horrible, disgusting minutes, to be sure, and Tora still shuddered to revisit those particular memories, but…Wakahisa had had him in that warehouse for over a week. Over a week, day after day, morning, noon, and night, the photographer had been his only human interaction. An endless routine of pleasant-voiced chatter, showers of unwanted compliments ( _unwanted hands_ ), and the ever-present camera.

      Tora suddenly felt sick. Had the police confiscated the camera? They must have, it would qualify as evidence. Had they seen the pictures, then? Tora himself had never gotten the chance to see them, although Wakahisa had promised that one day, one day he would. But even though he’d never seen them, Tora remembered each session, remembered—he remembered—

      Clenching his jaw until it ached, Tora buried his face in his pillow. _Stop it,_ he thought forcefully. _Stop it, stop thinking about it!_ His body shook, wracked with shivers that had nothing to do with chills. It was a warm night. They’d all been warm nights. Breathing a whimper, he pressed his knuckles against his lips until he thought his teeth might cut into his skin. Wakahisa was dead. He was dead, Tora had—well, Tora hadn’t actually seen anything, but he’d heard, and he’d felt—

      A tingling spread over Tora’s cheek and he suddenly, violently, scrubbed at his face with a corner of his blanket. _Get off._ He could still feel the heat of the photographer kneeling behind him, the sudden absence as the man was jolted back, crumpling. Tora imagined that he could feel the heat leaking from the cooling body. _Get off, get off, get off!_ The apartment creaked and Tora froze. Wakahisa was dead, but Saburou—but no, that wasn’t possible. He’d been arrested, he was in some holding cell, handcuffed under lock and key. It was impossible.

      The hallway groaned quietly and Tora felt his chest paralyze. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes as he fought to not gasp for air, to not make a sound. He thought he heard the hush of the door over the carpet. _Please, no, please, anything but—_

 

-

 

      Ryouji couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t really expected to, and since he didn’t have work tomorrow it wasn’t a problem, except… Except that he couldn’t shake the crawling feeling of irresolution. Tora had seemed almost—normal, or at least doing a better job of it than Ryouji. But the white patch at his nephew’s throat, the white bracelet of bandages on his wrist, and his white-wrapped finger had all been nasty, glaring reminders flashing in front of his eyes. Only one of the perpetrators was properly dealt with, and not even by Ryouji’s own doing, while the other was still breathing. It ground at Ryouji’s nerves, scraping them rough and raw and keeping him on edge.

      He just couldn’t shake the feeling that things weren’t finished.

      Unable to keep still, Ryouji flung the blankets away and sat up, feet settling carefully on the carpet. He hadn’t bothered with the mess from his fit of rage, only picked the table up and placed the lamp back on it. The random objects scattered on the floor were easily avoided as he moved out of the room down the hallway. If he was having trouble sleeping, then maybe Tora was, too. Maybe… _Maybe nothing,_ Ryouji thought angrily. _I’m such a fucking idiot, as if he’d be okay._ The same Tora who cried if Ryouji was mean to him, who cried if Ryouji was _nice_ to him? _He’s a shitty actor and I fell for it like a sucker!_ As if he’d recover just like that, and who knew what all those bastards had done to him—

_“He’s alive, just a little…occupied.”_

      Saburou’s words rang unbidden in Ryouji’s mind, and the cop growled under his breath, lip twisting in a sneer. He knew it had been a taunt, just another tactic to rile him up and lure him out—but what if?

      Stopping in front of the door, Ryouji carefully pushed it open.

      “Tora?”

      There was a sharp, painful drag of inhalation. “R—” his name sounded choked, “—Ryouji?”

      Immediately Ryouji’s pulse jumped. _Fucking idiot!_ “It’s me, Tora. It’s just me.”

      Stepping into the room, he heard a short, strangled noise, and then Tora was gasping raggedly.

      “Hey—Tora!” In an instant he was on his knees, pulling Tora upright, one arm securely around his shoulders while his other hand tugged Tora’s collar away from his throat, tried not to clench in a fist. “Hey, it’s okay, that was fuckin’ stupid of me, I shouldn’t’ve—shit, I’m sorry—”

      His nephew was covered in a light sheen of sweat, gulping for air as he struggled to get his breathing under control. “I—I know—I know, it’s imp-possible—” Tora’s voice broke as a dry sob shook his body. Slender fingers clutched at Ryouji’s bare chest, dug painfully into his arm. “But I was—I’m so scared—so scared, Ryouji, I—Ryouji—”

      “It’s okay, I’ve got you, just breathe,” Ryouji recited, not entirely sure if his words had any effect but hoping just the sound of another voice would ground him. “I’ve got you, Tora.”

      Gradually Tora’s breathing slowed, evened out, and although he still trembled, the near-spasms that had wracked him had ceased. Ryouji didn’t loosen his hold.

      “I’m…I’m okay,” Tora finally muttered, almost to himself. “I’m okay.”

      Ryouji’s jaw clenched. “Bullshit.”

      Grip shifting and tightening, the cop suddenly stood, lifting Tora with him. The teen almost yelped in surprise, arms wrapping around his uncle’s neck as Ryouji carried him directly to his own room and set him firmly on the bed.

      “W-what?” The question was fumbled out before Tora knew what he even wanted to ask.

      “Move over.”

      Tora complied automatically, all but pressing himself against the wall, and Ryouji climbed in beside him, pulling the blankets up from where they had been carelessly tossed.

      “Lie down.”

      Slowly Tora inched down the mattress, mind still racing to catch up with the sudden development of events even as Ryouji yanked the covers over both of them, rolling onto his side and pulling his nephew to him with his right arm.

      “Go to sleep.”

      The teen’s thoughts were too confused to even scream and instead jumbled and bumped together until slowly, they were overcome by the lurking exhaustion. “G…goodnight, Ryouji…” It was almost a question, and Ryouji grunted in response.

      “Night. Now sleep.” And with that Ryouji closed his eyes and, to all appearances, fell asleep instantaneously.

      It was almost more believable to Tora that he’d been sleeping the entire time and had sleepwalked Tora into his bed, or that Tora was simply dreaming. But Ryouji’s arm was heavy and warm, and his breathing was warm, and the bed was warm. Slowly, Tora felt himself begin to relax. Stealing a last, lingering look at his uncle’s face, it wasn’t long before he felt himself begin to drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify (since I'm not sure how easy it was to pick up): The nail from Tora's middle finger on his right hand was removed, and it was his left wrist he injured trying to escape. Ryouji's right upper arm was injured in his stint at the docks.
> 
> Also, I may go back and edit/add some things in previous chapters. If I decide to make any major changes, I'll be sure to let everyone know in my next update.


	19. Update

     Once again, I'm sorry that this isn't the new chapter everyone was hoping for. I haven't read all of the new comments yet, but I will reply individually after posting this.

     Life has been a bit rocky, as life will be, but I am doing as well as I can. I had hoped to be able to answer comments along with a real update, but after being stuck on the latest chapter for a good two months and continuously revising for a while longer, I decided to delete what I had written -- it was simply too bogged down with editing and I was sick of looking at it. I am currently starting the process of rewriting it, which will most likely take a while longer. 

     Having never expected this project to get so much attention, I do feel extremely guilty over how slow and spotty I have been with updates, which unfortunately doesn't help my writing process. However, I genuinely love reading everyone's comments, and I am working on that particular problem and doing my best to write anyway. For now all I can do is apologize and say once again that I do not plan to abandon this story, no matter how long it may take me to finish. 

     As always, thank you to everyone who has read even one chapter of this story.

     - Addie


	20. i. Middle Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not entirely happy with the ending, but I can't spend any more time on it, I just can't. My mood has been declining recently and I have a feeling it's going to get worse before it gets better, so I can only hope this extremely delayed and subpar update can be forgiven and that it's better than nothing. 
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this story.

      When Tora woke, it was to almost suffocating heat. At some point during the night Ryouji had twisted, pushing the blankets largely onto his nephew, until he was laying mostly on his stomach but partly still on Tora; his arm remained flung over his nephew with the addition of his leg, only feeding the furnace. For all that, Tora would have been more than content to stay exactly where he was if not for the pressing matter of his bladder. Or rather, the pressing of Ryouji’s knee against his bladder. A muffled groan escaped the teen.

      “Ryouji…” he whispered reluctantly. He was loathe to wake his uncle—what time was it, anyway?—and his voice was so quiet he could barely hear it himself.

      Ryouji didn’t move.

      Switching tactics, Tora attempted to slide himself out from beneath Ryouji’s limbs without waking him, but quickly realized it was a futile effort. The bed wasn’t big enough for two men, much less the room to maneuver about. Tora was already practically against the wall, and there was no way to extract himself short of pushing Ryouji off the bed—which was definitely worse than just waking him normally, as it was a surefire way to piss the older man off. With a sigh, Tora (regretfully) resigned himself to cajoling his uncle awake.

      “Ryouji, wake up. Come on, I’m dying of heat and I have to pee—I _really_ have to pee, Ryouji. Please? At least get your knee off me…”

      Attempting to push Ryouji’s leg away, Tora got mixed results; with a grunt, his uncle (still asleep) shifted to face Tora, which did lead to him moving almost completely off of his nephew. In order to lever from his stomach to his side, however, he had to brace himself using his leg. Which was still resting below Tora’s stomach.

      A distressed hissed was followed by strangled near-laughter as Tora squirmed. “Aaauhhhg, Ryouji…! You shitty uncle, I hate you!” he huffed, shoving at Ryouji’s chest. Although he knew Ryouji hadn’t done it on purpose, it was almost more infuriating that Ryouji was just as annoying _asleep_ as he was awake.

      Seemingly in response to the shove, the detective reached over and pulled Tora into a half-hug, trapping the teen’s right arm between them and smothering him in a wave of body heat. Something hard pushed against Tora’s hip.

      “Ryouji!” Tora finally snapped, too irritated to be embarrassed and too amused to be truly angry. “You better wake up, right now, or I’m going to pee on you. I swear to god, Ryouji!”

      There was a long stream of grumbling and Ryouji only tightened his hold, morning wood pressing snugly against his nephew. At this point, however, Tora didn’t even care, suppressing both his laughter and the urge to head-butt his uncle.

      “Ryouji. I’m serious, Ryouji, if you don’t wake up…”

      Ryouji just buried his face in the pillow, jaw brushing against Tora’s temple. The stubble tickled.

      “I _really_ have to go, Ryouji,” Tora whined, swallowing his laughter again. “Please, I’m not kidding. I’ll seriously pee on you, Ryouji!”

      “Sounds hot.” Ryouji’s voice was low and slurred with sleep, tone gravelly in all the right ways to send shivers down Tora’s spine, but the effect was lost completely as Tora’s brain continued screaming for him to get to the bathroom.

      “Wh— _no,_ that’s _gross!_ You’re gross, Ryouji, let me go!” Unable to stop himself, Tora began laughing helplessly. “Please, _please._ I seriously need to go to the bathroom—like, five minutes ago.”

      “You suggested it, not me.” But with a grunt his uncle rolled over, freeing Tora with a cool rush of air.

      Unhesitating Tora sat up, pointedly tossing the covers onto Ryouji, and clambered over him to the edge of the bed where he almost stepped directly into the scattering of objects from the nightstand.

      “What hap—?” he started automatically, surprised at the mess, before remembering with a jolt exactly what had happened the previous night and all the nights before. _I didn’t stay here._

      Dimly Tora heard a grunt—Ryouji’s nonverbal and clearly dismissive response to Tora’s unfinished question—and felt a fresh wash of guilt. For the first few days he’d just sat in the warehouse uselessly, waiting for Ryouji to find him, _expecting_ Ryouji to rescue him. He hadn’t thought of how Ryouji felt at all. (Ironically enough, Tora was quick to dismiss the memory of the paralyzing terror he had felt under his kidnappers while blaming himself for not taking action sooner; viewing things in hindsight made everything easier to regret.) Picking his way through the mess, Tora hurried to the bathroom to relieve himself, and on his way back saw that it was almost noon. The takeout from the previous day felt like a distant memory, so rather than go back to the bedroom Tora changed course for the kitchen, deciding to make all of Ryouji’s favorites. It was a pathetic attempt at making things up to him, he knew, but Ryouji would probably reject a verbal apology and at that moment, it was the best that Tora could do.

      He’d just finished cooking and was bringing the food to the table when Ryouji emerged from the bedroom, hair a disaster and scratching his arm.

      “Smells good,” commented the detective before yawning massively.

      “It’s your favorites,” Tora replied, taking a moment to squash down his fluttery embarrassment before looking at his uncle. “Did—”

      The rest of his words promptly tumbled from his mind as he saw the ugly scab beneath Ryouji’s fingers. It was about the width of—well, a finger, nearly as long, and definitely hadn’t been there before Tora had been kidnapped. It looked recent.

      “What’s that?” Tora asked numbly, staring at the marred skin. “On your arm.”

      Following his nephew’s gaze, Ryouji cursed under his breath, swiping his hand over the bullet wound as though he could wipe it away like a smear of dirt. “Nothing,” he said, short and pointed. _Drop it._

      “That doesn’t look like nothing,” Tora pushed stubbornly, a tremor in his rising voice. “Did you—what did you do, Ryouji? What did you _do?_ ”

      “Nothing!” snapped the older man, turning away slightly as if, once out of sight, Tora would miraculously forget about the mark. “It doesn’t matter.”

      “It does!” shouted Tora, incredulous. The plates of food in his hands slammed to the table. “That’s my fault if—if you got hurt trying to find me, then that’s my fault!” A thrill of terror shivered through his stomach as he remembered the exchange between his captors: _The nail’s good for now. Well, let’s hope he cooperates after this, right, Tora-kun?_ “They were _trying_ to bait you by—” the teen’s fingers curled reflexively as he recalled cruel pressure keeping his hand flat, _one, two, three_ “—by sending you that, they were after you the entire time, _they wanted to kill you and you almost let them because of a fingernail?”_ Hardly mindful of what he was saying, Tora said the first thing that ripped at his chest. “You should’ve just let them keep me!”

      “What the _fuck,_ Tora!” yelled Ryouji, spinning to face his nephew, anger and disbelief warring across his expression. “What are you—how the fuck can you say that?! He was going to kill you, too, I’ve seen his crime scenes, he killed _everyone_ involved, so you shut the fuck up saying I shouldn’t’ve done anything, _bullshit_ I shouldn’t have done anything, even if you were safe at home with your mom I would’ve done the same exact thing—”

      “No,” Tora shook his head, couldn’t seem to stop shaking it, “no, no way, if it hadn’t been for me you never would have gone anywhere near them, you’d never _purposely_ try to get yourself killed, the only reason any of this happened is because of _me—_ ”

      Ryouji jabbed a finger at him furiously, struggling to speak through his anger. “Stop— _doing_ that!”

      “What?” cried Tora, throwing his arms wide, eyes blurred and burning. “Stop doing what?! Being fucking _useless?_ Because believe me, nobody’s sorrier about that than I am!”

      “Blaming yourself for every single god damn thing that goes wrong!” roared Ryouji, striding forward swiftly and slamming his hands on the table, making the plates of food jump and clatter. “It is _not_ your fault, it’s those sick fucks who think it’s fun to play games with people and their families and fucking _murder them,_ so you shut your god damn mouth and stop apologizing for them because it’s _not your fault!_ Do you understand?!”

      A sob ripped free of Tora, filling his throat and choking off his words. He couldn’t believe it; Ryouji didn’t even work in homicide. He shouldn’t have had anything to do with it, but then Tora was careless— _even though Ryouji had been being so careful, picking him up from school and telling him to lock the doors and_ worrying _about him, god he felt like such an idiot_ —and got himself locked up in a warehouse, and Ryouji could have _died_ and here Tora was getting mad at him but he couldn’t help it. He shouldn’t have been so reckless. How did he think Tora would have felt, knowing that Ryouji had died trying to save him? _He probably didn’t think that far ahead,_ the teen thought spitefully, trying to crush the tears back into his eyes. A hand settled on his shoulder, warm and heavy, and Tora abruptly hated Ryouji’s awkward, rough-gentleness because it made Tora feel like melting into his arms all weak and puddle-y and Tora wasn’t weak, damn it, and then he felt even angrier because he knew that was a lie.

      “No,” he said thickly, pulling away. “You only got involved in it because of me, you’re—it’s not even your department.”

      Ryouji’s jaw clenched, pointedly ignoring the small pinch of emotion he felt as Tora rejected his hand. “ _You_ only got involved in it because of _me,_ dumbass! You said it yourself, they went after you to get to me, but you don’t hear me whining about how this is all my fault, do you? Because it’s _not._ It’s not my fault and it sure as hell ain’t yours, it’s that bastard who decided to start killing people!”

      Ryouji using logic; Tora never thought he’d see the day, and it was completely ruined by the fact that it was pissing him off. Everything he was saying made sense, but it only made Tora feel more pathetic. He’d never thought that Ryouji might blame himself. He’d never thought that Ryouji might run himself into the ground trying to find Tora, risk his life because Tora was in danger. He felt stupid, and shallow, and selfish and weak and jealous of Ryouji’s strength, and of all the people who least deserved him, Tora was at the top of the list.

      Now Tora was staying mad simply for the sake of being mad, instead of crying and letting Ryouji take care of him— _again_. No matter how crass his uncle was, things always seemed to end with him comforting Tora, and the one thing that had always terrified him more than being rejected by Ryouji was being looked down on by Ryouji. “I should’ve done something sooner—it’s not like they were superhuman or anything, they were just people,” he insisted stubbornly.

      “They ripped. Off. Your nail,” growled Ryouji. “Of course you’d be scared to do anything!”

      “Well they shot you!” Tora retaliated. “And you kept trying anyway! It’s a fingernail, it’ll grow back! All he did the rest of the time was—was take pictures and give me food!”

      “That’s a risk that comes with _my_ job! You’re a high schooler—a _kid,_ damn it, you’re allowed to act like one!” Running his hands through his hair in frustration, Ryouji took a deep breath before exhaling harshly, hands dropping to his hips. “This is stupid. It’s over, it’s done, it doesn’t matter anymore; you can’t change anything so stop feelin’ so damn guilty about everything! Let’s just eat.”

      “I’m not hungry anymore,” Tora muttered belligerently.

      His uncle was having none of it. “Sit down. Eat.”

      The meal was had in stony silence, Tora projecting his muteness as loudly as possible while Ryouji ate stoically, ignoring it. Each angry for their own reasons and further irritated by the other’s anger, neither was feeling inclined to apologize, so when the food was gone Tora took the dishes to the kitchen, and Ryouji moved to the couch.

      He’s _stupid._ Tora scrubbed at the plates aggressively, doing his best to stay angry. As long as he was angry, he wasn’t crying—usually. _He’s stupider than stupid! Stupid, stupid…_

      In the other room, he heard the sound of the TV being turned on and then the volume being turned up until Tora could clearly hear the program even over the running water. And even that managed to piss the teen off, because Ryouji was doing it on _purpose—_ what, exactly, “it” was Tora wasn’t sure, but Ryouji was _doing something,_ and it was definitely on purpose, and it was so god damn irritating! Dropping the dish he was holding with a noisy clatter, not caring if it chipped, Tora stomped over to the fridge and slammed it open, the various bottles and cartons in the door knocking against each other in a rather satisfying cacophony. Tora hoped Ryouji had heard _that._

      …Of course, there was no real reason to open the fridge. He’d already made lunch, and it was too soon to make snacks. But Tora was loathe to shut door without doing _something,_ otherwise he’d feel stupid(er than he already did), and he _wasn’t stupid damn it, Ryouji was the stupid one._ So, grabbing the milk, Tora took a long drink straight out of the carton, and even though Ryouji had no way of knowing what his nephew was doing, the teen still felt a smug wash of satisfaction and ignored the cold creeping at the base of his skull from the too-large gulp of chilled beverage.

      …Of course, Ryouji had _always_ drank straight from the carton until Tora scolded him for it, but he knew that his uncle sometimes still snuck casual drinks, rather like Tora was doing now, which meant it was really like an indirect—

 _An indirect_ nothing, the teen thought furiously, squashing the puddle-y part of himself that definitely hadn’t existed until after Ryouji. _An indirect_ insult, _maybe, by_ Ryouji, _because he’s always! Doing!_ Something!

      Roughly putting the milk away and slamming the fridge door shut, Tora barely held back a scream. Ryouji had to have heard that one, but the television volume didn’t so much as waver; the detective had ignored Tora ignoring him, and now he was ignoring Tora in general and Tora hated it. _Fine,_ seethed the high schooler, _fine. Ryouji got his favorite for lunch, so he’ll get shit for dinner._ Opening the fridge again—normally, this time; it was embarrassing for no rational reason to open it angrily twice in a row—Tora surveyed the contents, trying to remember everything Ryouji hated. Or at least disliked.

      The list was very, very short.

      Then again, so was the number of actual ingredients remaining. Taking stock, Tora realized he’d have trouble making _any_ kind of meal out of what they had left, much less one as specific as Ryouji’s least favorite (Tora wasn’t even sure his uncle did have a least favorite food; just ones that he preferred to eat first). And just like that, the wildfire of Tora’s anger burnt out, leaving only embers of frustration and a blackened pit of exhaustion.

      He was just so _tired._ The previous night had done wonders for him mentally, thanks to it being the first night of quality sleep in a long time _and_ the fact that he’d shared it with Ryouji, but the ensuing fight had taken almost all the energy he’d recovered. Tora never wanted to fight with Ryouji, but especially not now; not after everything that had happened, not after the fear that he might never see his uncle again… A small part of him had even been secretly happy that Ryouji was suspended, looked forward a few days of just being together again and not going anywhere. And yet here they were, each stewing in their own silence and annoyance with the other and almost out of food. Tears prickled at his eyes again before the teen ground his hands against them, drawing in a deep breath and gritting his teeth against the urge to cry. It was okay. All he needed to do was go and get some more—a _lot_ more, enough to last until the weekend.

 _A breathe of fresh air might be just what I need,_ Tora reasoned to himself, although his heart leapt uncomfortably at the idea of going outside alone. _It’ll be fine, just to the store and back. It’s the middle of the day. There will be plenty of people around—plenty of_ normal, safe _people. It’ll be_ fine.

      Going to get his wallet, Tora didn’t bother telling Ryouji—most of his anger may have been sucked away, but the teen still clung stubbornly to the remnants. Besides, a breath of fresh air would be pretty pointless if the source of his annoyance came along with him. (At least, that’s what he told himself.)

      However, as he approached the door, the blaring sound of the TV cut off abruptly at the same moment Ryouji spoke up.

      “Where do you think you’re going?” The words were gruff and could have been nonchalant, if not for the fact that they were said a little too quickly, a little too loudly.

      “The store,” Tora said shortly, not looking at his uncle. “I’ll be back soon.”

      His words went unheeded, however, as the older man stood before Tora had even finished. “I’ll come with you.”

      “You don’t have to—” Tora started with a valiant attempt at surliness, but Ryouji was already at his side, shoving his shoes on.

      “I’m coming with you.”

      Irritation tried to spark, but it was matched by a swell of relief. He could have done it alone; he _could_ have done it, but as his uncle opened the door, stepping outside first, the lurking fear that had been gnawing in his chest eased away.

 

      At the store, Tora tried to focus solely on shopping but found himself continuously distracted by the smallest things. There were a number of other people shopping as well, which was _perfectly normal,_ Tora reminded himself firmly—but the man just down the aisle had been standing there for a while, seemingly debating between brands, and each time he moved Tora tensed. Had he just looked his way? No, that was the paranoia talking. Shaking his head, Tora tried to focus on the products in front of him but kept forgetting what he was looking for, hyper alert of the man in his peripheral vision. That time—he’d definitely just looked his way, hadn’t he?

      A presence appeared behind Tora, making him jump.

      “What are you loitering for,” Ryouji growled, grabbing the closest thing and shoving it into the basket. “We’re gonna be here all day at this rate.”

      “R-right.” Tora ducked his head and moved on, heart racing. Ryouji was with him, so there was no way anything would happen, right? But remembering the wound on his uncle’s arm, Tora’s resolve stuttered. Ryouji wasn’t invincible. If someone was smart about it, they could catch Ryouji off-guard and—

 _No_ , Tora thought fiercely. Stop it. _It’s the middle of the day, in the middle of a store with plenty of witnesses. It’s_ fine.

      Forcing himself back to reality, Tora found that his uncle was sticking close, close enough to brush against him as they walked. Tora wasn’t the only one hyper alert of their surroundings; with all the attention Ryouji was paying to other shoppers, he probably had their faces memorized. There was no opening to catch him off-guard, no matter how determined someone was.

      Finally relaxing a bit, the teen let out a quiet sigh. _I just want to go back home,_ he thought tiredly, heading to the next area of the store. _The sooner, the better._

      Ryouji clearly shared the sentiment, grabbing the first thing he saw whenever they paused and prompting his nephew along with gruff “hurry up”s and “stop taking so damn long.” Normally the constant prodding would have quickly gotten on his nerves, but for the first time Tora actually appreciated his uncle’s impatient nature; his voice kept him grounded, stopped his mind from wandering, and not much longer they were at the checkout line. Ryouji glared at the poor cashier as though that would make him scan the items faster—which it did, although Tora saw his hands trembling slightly—and paid before Tora could without a word, not bothering to wait for change. Tora managed to take one bag before Ryouji grabbed the rest, ushering him out of the store. The trip home was over before he knew it, and once inside Tora slumped in relief. He’d never thought a trip to the store could be so stressful.

      “Hey.” Ryouji nudged Tora none-too-gently with his knee as he toed his shoes off. “Next time you plan to go anywhere, tell me first. Got it?”

      “Yeah, yeah,” grumbled the teen, moving towards the kitchen.

      “I’m serious.” Ryouji scowled and followed after Tora with the rest of the groceries. “If you don’t I’ll hunt you down and kick your ass—”

      “You’re so violent!” exclaimed Tora, shooting an exasperated look at his uncle. “I get it, I promise I’ll let you know if I’m going somewhere.” Chewing his lip as he put everything away, Tora spoke again, tone softer. “And…thanks for coming with me. With this much we’ve got enough food for a while, so we can just…stay in.”

      Watching his nephew, Ryouji felt something tug in the space below his chest and above his stomach. It wasn’t an ache or anything cliché like that, but he felt prompted to do something, and so reaching out, the detective ruffled Tora’s hair.

      “Good,” he said gruffly. “That’s good.”

      They both knew it wouldn’t last, that they couldn’t stay shut away from the world and that life would return to normal eventually—but that was alright. They only needed a while. Just a few days was fine.

 

      The rest of the day was spent quietly. Ryouji went back to watching TV at a normal volume, flipping through the channels when he grew bored with the programs, while Tora tidied up the apartment—although when he got around to his uncle’s room, Ryouji wordlessly came to help tidy up the spilled nightstand, and Tora didn’t ask about it. Part of him still wanted to know exactly what had happened with Ryouji’s injury, but the rest of him was strongly averse to rekindling the argument—especially when he knew that Ryouji was right. As much as it bothered him, it _was_ part of the past, and holding a grudge over it wouldn’t change things. And so, when it came time for dinner, Tora made something simple that they both would enjoy, and afterwards he cleaned up while Ryouji took a bath and got ready for bed.

      Sitting in the tub, Tora mulled over what to do. On one hand, he was feeling worlds better than the first night; on the other, after spending the night and waking up with Ryouji, the thought of the storage room seemed cold and lonely. Even as he got out, dressed, and brushed his teeth, Tora wavered between actions. It would be fine to share the bed again, right? Ryouji was the one who’d brought him to it in the first place, after even coming to check on him. Ryouji had been worried about Tora. _So that means it’s fine, right?_

      Still, Tora hesitated in the doorway of the bedroom. It was dark, but he could just make out the shape of his uncle lying in bed. His feet felt like they were glued to the floor. _It wouldn’t hurt to ask, at least. Maybe…_

      “Can I…can I sleep with you again?” Tora’s voice sounded tiny to his ears, and at first he wasn’t sure Ryouji had even heard him. But after a moment he saw the shadowy form sit up, heard the covers being pulled back.

      “Come here.”

      Warmth blossomed in Tora’s chest, chasing away the uncertainty and making his steps feel light as he crossed the room. Climbing into the bed next to Ryouji felt like coming home, and his mouth curled in a small, genuine smile as Ryouji pulled the blanket over them; it was a close fit, almost cramped, but to Tora, it was perfect.

      “Goodnight, Ryouji,” he whispered, smile lingering as he tucked his head against his uncle’s shoulder.

      “Night,” came the quiet response.


End file.
